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BERNARDIN pr SAINT PIERRE.—1737-1814. 





PauL AND VirarniA, famous as the most idyllic 
of love stories, appeared in 1787. Some have been 
found to pronounce it gaudy in style and un- 
healthy, notto say unwholesome,intone. The fault 
in this famous story is that the exuberant sensi- 
bility of the time finds equally exuberant expres- 
sion. Where Bernardin is of merit and impor- 
tance isin his breaking away from the dull and 
arid vocabulary and phrase which more than a 
century of classical writing had brought upon 
France, in his genuine and vigorous preference of 
the beauties of nature, and inthe attempt which 
he made to reproduce the aspects of the natural 
world faithfully. Bernardin was, in French liter- 
ature, the apostle of the return to nature. 









“URATRSITY QF 


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PHILADELPHIA 
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LIBRARY 
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UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS. 





frontispiece. 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


SITUATE on the eastern side of the moun- 
tain which rises above Port Louis, in the 
“Mauritius, upon a piece of land bearing the 
marks oe former cultivation, are seen the 
‘ruins of two small cottages. These ruins are 
Snot far from the centre of a valley, formed by 
| <immense rocks and which opens only toward 
“the north. On the left rises the mountain 

ealled the Height of Discovery, whence the eye 

marks the distant sail when it first touches 

the verge of the horizon, and whence the sig- 

imal is given when a vessel approaches the 
4 island. At the foot of this mountain stands 
S the town of Port Louis. On the right is 
4 formed the road which stretches from Port 
> Louis to the Shaddock Grove, where the 
church bearing that name lifts its head, sur- 
ip rounded by its avenues of bamboo, in the mid- 
2 dle of a spacious plain; and the prospect ter- 
minates in a forest extending to the farthest 

5 





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Wweu Ld Paul and Virginia. 


bounds of the island. The front view pre- 
sents the bay, denominated the Bay of the 
Tomb; a little on the right is seen the Cape 
of Misfortune; and beyond rolls the expanded 
ocean, on the surface of which appear a few 
uninhabited islands; and, among others, the 
Point of Endeavor, which resembles a bastion 
built upon the flood. 

At the entrance of the valley which pre- 
sents these various objects, the echoes of the 
mountain incessantly repeat the hollow mur- 
murs of the winds that shake the neighboring 
forests, and the tumultuous dashing of the 
waves which break at a distance upon the 
clifis; but near the ruined cottages all is calm 
and still, and the only objects which there 
meet the eye are rude steep rocks that rise like 
a surrounding rampart. Large clumps of 
trees grow at their base, on their rifted sides, 
and even on their majestic tops, where the 
clouds seem to repose. The showers, which 
their bold points attract, often paint the vivid 
eolors of the rainbow on their green and 
brown declivities, and swell the sources of the 
little river which flows at their feet, called the 


Paul and Virginia. " 


river of Fan-Palms. © Within this inclosure 
reigns the most profound silence. The wa- 
ters, the air, all the elements, are at peace. 
Searcely does the echo repeat the whispers of 
the palm trees, spreading their broad leaves, 
the long points of which are gently agitated 
by the winds. A soft light illumines the bot- 
tom of this deep valley, on which the sun 
shines only at noon. But even at break of 
day the rays of light are thrown on the sur- 
rounding rocks; and their sharp peaks, rising 
above the shadows of the mountain, appear 
like tints of gold and purple gleaming upon 
the azure sky. 

To this scene I loved to resort, as I could 
here enjoy at once the richness of an un- 
bounded landscape and the charm of unin- 
terrupted solitude. One day, when I was 
seated at the foot of the cottages and con- 
templating their ruins, a man advanced in 
years passed near the spot. He was dressed 
in the ancient garb of the island, his feet were 
bare, and he leaned upon a staff of ebony; his 
hair was white, and the expression of his 
countenance was dignified and interesting. I 


hand Paul and Virginia. 


bowed to him with respect; he returned the 
salutation, and, after looking at me with some 
earnestness, came and placed himself upon the 
hillock on which I was seated. Encouraged 
by this mark of confidence, I thus addressed 
him: 

“Father, can you tell me to whom those 
cottages once belonged ?” 

“My son,” replied the old man, “those 
heaps of rubbish and that untilled land were, 
twenty years ago, the property of two famil- 
ies who then found happiness in this solitude. 
Their history is affecting; but what European, 
pursuing his way to the Indies, will pause one 
moment to interest himself in the fate of a 

few obscure individuals? What European 
ean picture happiness to his imagination 
amidst poverty and neglect? The curiosity 
of mankind is only attracted by the history of 
the great, and yet from that knowledge little 
use can be derived.” 

“Father,” I rejoined, “ from your manner 
and your observations I perceive that you 
have acquired much experience of human life. 
If you have leisure, relate to me, I beseech 


Paul and Virginia. 9 


you, the history of the ancient inhabitants of 
this desert; and be assured that even the men 
who are most perverted by the prejudices of 
the world find a soothing pleasure in con- 
templating that happiness which belongs to 
simplicity and virtue.” 

The old man, after a short silence, during 
which he leaned his face upon his hands, as if 
he were trying to recall the images of the 
past, thus began his narration: 


Monsieur de la Tour, a young man who was 
a native of Normandy, after having in vain 
solicited a commission in the French army, or 
some support from his own family, at length 
determined to seek his fortune in this island, 
where he arrived in 1726. ‘He brought hither 
a young woman, whom he loved tenderly, and 
by whom he was no less tenderly beloved. 
She belonged to a rich and ancient family of 
the same province; but he had married her 
secretly and without a fortune, and in opposi- 
tion to the will of her relations, who refused 
their consent because he was found guilty of 
being descended from parents who had no 


10 Paul and Virginia. 


claims to nobility. Monsieur de la Tour, 
leaving his wife at Port Louis, embarked for 
Madagascar, in order to purchase a few slaves 
to assist him in forming a plantation on this 
island. He landed at Madagascar during that 
unhealthy season which commences about the 
middle of October, and soon after his arrival 
died of the pestilential fever which prevails 
in that island six months of the year, and 
which will forever baffle the attempts of the 
European nations to form establishments on 
that fatal soil. His effects were seized upon 
by the rapacity of strangers, as commonly 
happens to persons dying in foreign parts; and 
his wife, who was pregnant, found herself a 
widow in a country where she had neither 
credit nor acquaintance, and no earthly pos- 
session, or rather support, but one negro 
woman. ‘Too delicate to solicit protection or 
relief from any one else after the death of him 
whom alone she loved, misfortune armed her 
with courage, and she resolved to cultivate, 
with her slave, a little spot of ground, and 
procure for herself the means of subsistence. 
Desert as was the island and the ground left 


Paul and Virginia. 11 


to the choice of the settler, she avoided those 
spots which were most fertile and most favor- 
able to commerce; seeking some nook of the 
mountain, some secret asylum, where she 
might live solitary and unknown, she bent her 
way from the town toward these rocks, where 
she might conceal herself from observation. 
All sensitive and suffering creatures, from a 
sort of common instinct, fly for refuge amidst 
their pains to haunts the most wild and deso- 
late, as if rocks could form a rampart against 
misfortune—as if the calm of Nature could 
hush the tumults of the soul. That Provi- 
dence which lends its support when we ask 
but the supply of our necessary wants had a 
blessing in reserve for Madame de la Tour 
which neither riches nor greatness can pur- 
chase: this blessing was a friend. 

The spot to which Madame de la Tour had - 
fled had already been inhabited for a year by 
a young woman of a lively, good-natured and 
affectionate disposition. Margaret (for that 
was her name) was born in Brittany of a fam- 
ily of peasants, by whom she was cherished 
and beloved, and with whom she might have 


12 Paul and Virginia. 


passed through life in simple rustie happiness, 
if, misled by the weakness of a tender heart, 
she had not listened to the passion of a gentle- 
man in the neighborhood who promised her 
marriage. He soon abandoned her, and, add- 
ing inhumanity to seduction, refused to en- 
sure a provision for the child of which she was 
pregnant. Margaret then determined to 
leave forever her native village, and retire 
where her fault might be concealed, to some 
colony distant from that country where she 
had lost the only portion of a poor peasant 
girl—her reputation. With some borrowed 
money she purchased an old negro slave, with 
whom she cultivated a little corner of this 
district. 

Madame de la Tour, followed by her negro 
woman, came to this spot, where she found 
Margaret engaged in suckling her child. 
Soothed and charmed by the sight of a person 
in a situation somewhat similar to her own, 
Madame de la Tour related in a few words 
her past condition and her present wants. 
Margaret was deeply affected by the recital, 
and, more anxious to merit confidence than 


Paul and Virginia. 13 


to create esteem, she confessed without dis- 
guise the errors of which she had been guilty. 

“As for me,” said she, “I deserve my fate; 
but you, madam—you! at once virtuous and 
unhappy;” and, sobbing, she offered Madame 
de la Tour both her hut and her friendship. 

That lady, affected by this tender reception, 
pressed her in her arms and exclaimed: 

“Ah, surely Heaven has put an end to my 
misfortunes, since it inspires you, to whom I 
am a stranger, with more goodness toward me 
than I have ever experienced from my own 
relations ! ” 

I was acquainted with Margaret, and, al- 
though my habitation is a league and a half 
from hence, in the woods behind that sloping 
mountain, I considered myself as her neigh- 
bor. In the cities of Europe a street, even a 
simple wall, frequently prevents members of 
the same family from meeting for years; but 
in new colonies we consider those persons as 
neighbors from whom we are divided only by 
woods and mountains; and above all at that 
period, when this island had little intercourse 
with the Indies, vicinity alone gave a claim 


14 Paul and Virginia. 


to friendship, and hospitality toward strangers 
seemed less a duty than a pleasure. No sooner 
was I informed that Margaret had found a 
companion than I hastened to her, in the hope 
of being useful to my neighbor and her guest. 
I found Madame de la Tour possessed of all 
those melancholy graces which, by blending 
sympathy with admiration, give to beauty ad- 
ditional power. Her countenance was interest- 
ing, expressive at once of dignity and dejec- 
tion. She appeared to be in the last stage of 
her pregnancy. I told the two friends that 
for the future interests of their children, and 
to prevent the intrusion of any other settler, 
they had better divide between them the prop- 
erty of this wild, sequestered valley, which is 
nearly twenty acres in extent. They confided 
that task to me, and I marked out two equal 
portions of land. One included the higher 
part of this enclosure, from the cloudy pinna- 
cle of that rock, whence springs the river of 
Fan-Palms, to that precipitous cleft which 
you see on the summit of the mountain, and 
which, from its resemblance in form to the 
battlement of a fortress, is called the Em- 


Paul and Virginia. 15 


brasure. It is difficult to find a path along 
this wild portion of the enclosure, the soil of 
which is encumbered with fragments of rock 
or worn into channels formed by torrents; yet 
it produces noble trees and innumerable 
springs and rivulets. The other portion of 
land comprised the plain extending along the 
banks of the river of Fan-Palms to the open- 
ing where we are now seated, whence the 
river takes its course between those two hills 
until at last it falls into the sea. You may 
still trace the vestiges of some meadow-land; 
and this part of the common is less rugged, 
but not more valuable, than the other, since 
in the rainy season it becomes marshy, and in 
dry weather is so hard and unyielding that it 
will almost resist the stroke of the pickaxe. 
When I had thus divided the property I per- 
suaded my neighbors to draw lots for their 
respective possessions. The higher portion of 
land, containing the source of the river of 
Fan-Palms, became the property of Madame 
de la Tour; the lower, comprising the plain on 
the banks of the river, was allotted to Mar- 
garet; and each seemed satisfied with her 


16 Paul and Virginia. 


share. They entreated me to place their habi- 
tations together, that they might at all times 
enjoy the soothing intercourse of friendship 
and the consolation of mutual kind offices. 
Margaret’s cottage was situated near the cen- 
tre of the valley, and just on the boundary of 
her own plantation. 

Close to that spot I built another cottage 
for the residence of Madame de la Tour; and 
thus the two friends, while they possessed all 
the advantages.of neighborhood, lived on their 
own property. I myself cut palisades from 
the mountain and brought leaves of fan- 
palms from the sea-shore in order to construct 
those two cottages, of which you can now dis- 
cern neither the entrance nor the roof. Yet, 
alas! there still remain but too many traces 
for my remembrance! ‘Time, which so rap- 
idly destroys the proud monuments of em- 
pires, seems in this desert to spare those of, 
friendship, as if to perpetuate my regrets to 
the last hour of my existence. 

As soon as the second cottage was finished, 
Madame de la Tour was delivered of a girl. 
I had been the god-father of Margaret’s child, 


Paul and Virginia. 17 


who was christened by the name cf Paul. 
Madame de la Tour desired me to perform the 
same office for her child also, together with 
her friend, who gave her the name of Vir- 
ginia. . 

“She will be virtuous,” cried Margaret, 
“and she will be happy. I have only known 
misfortune by wandering from virtue.” 

About the time Madame de la Tour recoy- 
ered, these two little estates had already be- 
gun to yield some produce, perhaps in a small 
degree owing to the care which I occasionally 
bestowed on their improvement, but far more 
to the indefatigable labors of the two slaves. 
Margaret’s slave, who was called Domingo, 
was still healthy and robust, though advanced 
in years: he possessed some knowledge and a 
good natural understanding. He cultivated 
indiscriminately, on both plantations, the 
spots of ground that seemed most fertile, and 
sowed whatever grain he thought most con- 
genial to each particular soil. Where the 
ground was poor, he strewed maize; where it 
was most fruitful he planted wheat, and rice 
in such spots as were marshy. He threw the 

2 


¥ { 


18 Paul and Virginia. 


seeds of gourds and cucumbers at the foot of 
the rocks which they loved to climb and dec- 
orate with their luxuriant foliage. In dry 
spots he cultivated the sweet potato; the cot- 
ton tree flourished upon the heights, and the 
sugar-cane grew in the clayey soil. He reared 
some plants of coffee on the hills, where the 
grain, although small, is excellent. His plan- 
tain trees, which spread their grateful shade 
on the banks of the river and encircled the cot- 
tages, yielded fruit throughout ‘the year. 
And lastly, Domingo, to soothe his cares, eul- 
tivated a few plants of tobacco. Sometimes 
he was employed in cutting wood for firing 
from the mountain, sometimes in hewing 
pieces of rock within the enclosure in order to 
level the paths. The zeal which inspired him 
enabled him to perform all these labors with 
intelligence and activity. He was much at- 
tached to Margaret, and not less to Madame 
de la Tour, whose negro woman, Mary, he 
had married on the birth of Virginia; and he 
was passionately fond of his wife. Mary was 
born at Madagascar, and had there acquired 
the knowledge of some useful arts. She could 


Paul and Virginia. 19 


weave baskets and a sort of stuff with long 
grass that grows in the woods. She was active, 
cleanly, and, above all, faithful. It was her 
care to prepare their meals, to rear the poul- 
try, and go sometimes to Port Louis to sell the 
superfluous produce of these little plantations, 
which was not, however, very considerable. 
If you add to the personages already men- 
tioned two goats, which were brought up with 
the children, and a great dog, which kept 
wateh at night, you will have a complete idea 
of the household, as well as of the productions 
of these two little farms. 

Madame de la Tour and her friend were 
constantly employed in spinning cotton for 
the use of their families. Destitute of every- 
thing which their own industry could not sup- 
ply, at home they went barefooted: shoes were 
a convenience reserved for Sunday, on which 
day, at an early hour, they attended mass at 
the church of the Shaddock Grove, which you 
see yonder. That church was more distant 
from their homes than Port Louis; but they 
seldom visited the town, lest they should be 
treated with contempt on account of their 


a 


20 Paul and Virginia. 


dress, which consisted simply of the coarse 
blue linen of Bengal, usually worn by slaves. 
But is there, in that external deference 
which fortune commands, a compensation for 
domestic happiness? If these interesting 
women had something to suffer from the 
world, their homes on that very account be- 
eame more dear to them. No sooner did Mary 
and Domingo, from this elevated spot, per- 
ceive their mistress on the road of the Shad- 
dock Grove, than they flew to the foot of the 
mountain in order to help them to ascend. 
They discerned in the looks of their domes- 
tics the joy which their return excited. They 
found in their retreat neatness, independence, 
all the blessings which are the recompense of 
toil, and they received the zealous services 
which spring from affection. United by the 
tie of similar wants and the sympathy of sim- 
ilar misfortunes, they gave each other the 
tender names of companion, friend, sister. 
They had but one will, one interest, one table. 
All their possessions were in common, And 
if sometimes a passion more ardent than 
friendship awakened in their hearts the pang 


Paul and Virginia. 21 


of unavailing anguish, a pure religion, united 
with chaste manners, drew their: affections 
toward another life, as the trembling flame 
rises toward heaven when it no longer finds 
any ailment on earth. 

The duties of maternity became a source of 
additional happiness to these affectionate 
mothers, whose mutual friendship gained new 
strength at the sight of their children, equally 
the offspring of an ill-fated attachment. They 
delighted in washing their infants together in 
the same bath, in putting them to rest in the 
same cradle, and in changing the maternal 
bosom at which they received nourishment. 

“My friend,” cried Madame de la Tour, 
“we shall each of us have two children, and 
each of our children will have two mothers.” 

As two buds which remain on different 
trees of the same kind, after the tempest has 
broken all their branches, produce more de- 
licious fruit if each, separated from the ma- 
ternal stem, be grafted on the neighboring 
tree, so these two infants, deprived of all their 
other relations, when thus exchanged - for 
nourishment by those who had given them 


22 Paul and Virginia. 


birth, imbibed feelings of affection still more 
tender than those of son and daughter, brother 
and sister. While they were yet in their 
cradles their mothers talked of their marriage. 
They soothed their own cares by looking for- 
ward to the future happiness of their chil- 
dren; but this contemplation often drew forth 
their tears. The misfortunes of one mother 
had arisen from having neglected marriage, 
those of the other from having submitted te 
its laws. One had suffered by aiming to rise 
above her condition, the other by descending 
from her rank. But they found consolation 
in reflecting that their more fortunate chil- 
dren, far from the cruel prejudices of 
Europe, would enjoy at once the pleasures of 
love and the blessings of equality. 

Rarely, indeed, has such an attachment 
been seen as that which the two children 
already testified for each other. If Paul com- 
plained of any thing, his mother pointed to’ 
Virginia; at her sight he smiled and was ap- 
peased. If any accident befell Virginia, the 
cries of Paul gave notice of the disaster, but 
the dear little creature would suppress her 


Paul and Virginia. 23 


complaints if she found that he was unhappy. 
When I came hither, I usually found them 
quite naked, as is the custom of the country, 
tottering in their walk, and holding each other 
by the hands and under the arms, as we sce 
represented the constellation of the Twins. 
At night these infants often refused to be 
separated, and were found lying in the same 
cradle, their cheeks, their bosoms pressed 
close together, their hands thrown round each 
other’s neck, and sleeping locked in one an- 
other’s arms. ‘ 

When they began to speak the first names 
they learned to give each other were those of 
brother and sister, and childhood knows no 
softer appellation. Their education, by di- 
recting them ever to consider each other’s 
wants, tended greatly to increase their affec- 
tion. Ina short time all the household econ- 
omy, the care of preparing their rural repasts, 
became the task of Virginia, whose labors 
were always crowned with the praises and 
kisses of her brother. As for Paul, always in 
motion, he dug the garden with Domingo or 
followed him with a little hatchet into the 


24. Paul and Virginia. 


woods; and if in his rambles he espied a beau- 
tiful flower, any delicious fruit, or a nest of 
birds, even at the top of the tree, he would 
climb up and bring the spoil to his sister. 
When you met one of these children you 
might be sure the other was not far off. 

One day, as I was coming down that moun- 
tain, I saw Virginia at the end of the garden 
running toward the house with her petticoat 
thrown over her head, in order to sereen her- 
self from a shower of rain. At a distance I 
thought she was alone; but as I hastened 
toward her, in order to help her on, I per- 
ceived she held Paul by the arm, almost en- 
tirely enveloped in the same canopy, and both 
were laughing heartily at their being sheltered 
together under an umbrella of their own in- 
vention. Those two charming faces in the 
middle of a swelling petticoat recalled to my 
mind the children of Leda enclosed in the 
same shell. 

Their sole study was how they could please 
and assist one another, for of all other things 
they were ignorant, and indeed could neither 
read nor write. They were never disturbed 


Paul and Virginia. 25 


by inquiries about past times, nor did their 
curiosity extend beyond the bounds of their 
mountain. They believed the world ended 
at the shores of their own island. and all their 
ideas and all their affections were confined 
within its limits. Their mutual tenderness 
and that of their mothers employed all the 
energies of their minds. Their tears had 
never been called forth by tedious application 
to useless sciences. Their minds had never 
been wearied by lessons of morality, superflu- 
ous to bosoms unconscious of ill. They had 
never been taught not to steal, because every- 
thing with them was in common; or not to be 
intemperate, because their simple food was 
_ left to their own discretion; or not to lie, be- 
cause they had nothing to conceal. Their 
young imaginations had never been terrified 
by the idea that God has punishment in store 
for ungrateful children, since with them filial 
affection arose naturally from maternal ten- 
derness. All they had been taught of religion 
was to love it, and if they did not offer up long 
prayers in the church, wherever they were, 
in the house, in the fields, in the woods, they 


26 Paul and Virginia. 


raised toward heaven their innocent hands and 
hearts purified by virtuous affections. 

All their early childhood passed thus like a 
beautiful dawn, the prelude of a bright day. 
Already they assisted their mothers in the 
duties of the household. As soon as the crow- 
ing of the wakeful cock announced the first 
beam of the morning, Virginia arose, and has- 
tened to draw water from a_ neighboring 
spring; then returning to the house she pre- 
pared the breakfast. | When the rising sun 
gilded the points of the rocks which overhung 
the enclosure in which they lived, Margaret 
and her child repaired to the dwelling of Mad- 
ame de la Tour, where they offered up their 
morning prayer together. This sacrifice of 
thanksgiving always preceded their first re- 
past, which they often took before the door of 
the cottage, seated upon the grass, under a 
canopy of plantain; and while the branches 
of that delicious tree afforded a grateful shade, 
its fruit furnished a substantial food ready 
prepared for them by nature, and its long 
glossy leaves, spread upon the table, supplied 
the place of linen. Plentiful and wholesome 


Paul and Virginia. 27 


nourishment gave early growth and vigor to | 
the persons of these children, and their coun- 
tenances expressed the purity and the peace 
of their souls. At twelve years of age 
the figure of Virginia was in some degree 
formed: a profusion of light hair shaded her 
face, to which her blue eyes and coral lips 
gave the most charming brilliancy. Her eyes 
sparkled with vivacity when she spoke, but 
when she was silent they were habitually 
turned upward with an expression of extreme 
sensibility, or rather of tender melancholy. 
The figure of Paul began already to display 
the graces of youthful beauty. He was taller 
than Virginia; his skin was of a darker tint; 
his nose more aquiline; and his black eyes 
would have been too piercing if the long eye 
lashes by which they were shaded had not im- 
parted to them an expression of softness. He 
was constantly in motion, except when his 
sister appeared, and then, seated by her side, 
he became still. Their meals often passed 
without a word being spoken; and from their 
silence, the simple elegance of their attitudes, 
and the beauty of their. naked feet you might 


28 Paul and Virginia. 


have fancied you beheld an antique group of 
white marble, representing some of the chil- 
dren of Niobe, but for the glances of their 
eyes, which were constantly seeking to meet, 
and their mutual soft and tender smiles, which 
suggested rather the idea of happy celestial 
spirits, whose nature is love, and who are 
obliged to have recourse to words for the ex- 
pression of their feelings. 

In the meantime Madame de la Tour, per- 
ceiving every day some unfolding grace, some 
new beauty, in her daughter, felt her mater- 
nal anxiety increase with her tenderness. She 
often said to me, “If I were to die, what will 
become of Virginia without fortune ?” 

Madame de la Tour had an aunt in France, 
who was a woman of quality, rich, old, and a 
complete devotee. She had behaved with so 
much eruelty toward her niece upon her mar- 
riage that Madame de la Tour had determined 
no extremity of distress should ever compel 
her to have recourse to her hard-hearted rela- 
tion. But when she became a mother the 
pride of resentment was overcome by the 
stronger feelings of maternal tenderness. She 


Paul and Virginia. 29 


wrote to her aunt, informing her of the sud- 
den death of her husband, the birth of her 
daughter, and the difficulties in which she was 
involved, burdened as she was with an infant 
and without means of support. She received 
no answer; but, notwithstanding the high 
spirit natural to her character, she no longer 
feared exposing herself to: mortification; and 
although she knew her aunt would never par- 
don her for having married a man who was 
not of noble birth, however estimable, she 
continued to write to her, with the hope of 
awakening her compassion for Virginia. 
Many years, however, passed without receiv- 
ing any token of her remembrance. 

At length, in 1738, three years after the 
arrival of Monsieur de la Bourdonnais in this 
island, Madame de la Tour was informed that 
the governor had a letter to give her from her 
aunt. She flew to Port Louis; maternal joy 
raised her mind above all trifling considera- 
tions, and she was careless on this occasion of 
appearing in her homely attire. Monsieur 
de la Bourdonnais gave her a letter from her 
aunt, in which she informed her that she de- 


30 Paul and Virginia. ; 


served her fate for marrying an adventurer 
and a libertine: that the passions brought 
with them their own punishment; that the 
premature death of her husband was a just 
visitation from Heaven; that she had done 
well in going to a distant island, rather than 
dishonor her family by remaining in France; 
and that, after all, in the colony where she 
had taken refuge none but the idle failed to 
grow rich. Having thus censured her niece, 
she concluded by eulogizing herself. To 
avoid, she said, the almost inevitable evils of 
marriage, she had determined to remain sin- 
gle. In fact, as she was of a very ambitious 
disposition, she had resolved to marry none 
but a man of high rank; but although she was 
very rich, her fortune was not found a suffi- 
cient bribe even at court, to counterbalance 
the malignant dispositions of her mind and 
the disagreeable qualities of her person. 
After mature deliberations, she added im a 
postscript that she had strongly recommended 
her niece to Monsieur de la Bourdonnais. 
This she had indeed done, but in a manner of 
late too common, which renders a patron per- 


Paul and Virginia. 31 


haps even more to be feared than a declared 
enemy; for, in order to justify herself for her 
harshness, she had cruelly slandered her niece, 
while she affected to pity her misfortunes. 

Madame de la Tour, whom no unprejudiced 
person could have seen without feelings of 
sympathy and respect, was received with the 
utmost coolness by Monsieur de la Bourdon- 
nais, biased as he was against her. When she 
painted to him her own situation and that of 
her child, he replied in abrupt sentences: 

“We will see what can be done—there are 
so many to relieve—all in good time—why 
did you displease your aunt?—you have been 
much to blame.” 

Madame de la Tour returned to her cottage. 
her heart torn with grief and filled with all 
the bitterness of disappointment. When she 
arrived she threw her aunt’s letter on the 
table, and exclaimed to her friend: 

“There is the fruit of eleven years of pa- 
tient expectation ! ” 

Madame de la Tour being the only person 
in the little cirele who could read, she again 


32 Paul and Virginia. 


took up the letter and read it aloud. Scarcely 
had she finished when Margaret exclaimed: 

“ What have we to do with your relations? 
Has God then forsaken us? He only is our, 
Father! Have we not hitherto been happy? 
Why then this regret? You have no cour- 
age.” Seeing Madame de la Tour in tears, 
she threw herself upon her neck, and, pressing 
her in her arms, “ My dear friend! ” eried she, 
“my dear friend!” but her emotion choked 
her utterance. 

At this sight Virginia burst into tears, and 
pressed her mother’s and Margaret’s hand al- 
ternately to her lips and heart; while Paul, 
his eyes inflamed with anger, eried, clasped 
his hands together, and stamped with his foot, 
not knowing whom to blame for this scene of 
misery. 

The noise soon brought Domingo and Mary 
to the spot, and the little habitation resounded 

with cries of distress: 
“Ah, madam!—My good mistress!—My 
dear mother!—Do not weep! ”’ 

These tender proofs of affection at length 
dispelled the grief of Madame de la Tour. 


Paul and Virginia. 33 


She took Paul and Virginia in her arms, and, 
embracing them, said: 

“You are the cause of my affliction, my 
children, but you are also my only source of 
delight! Yes, my dear children, misfortune 
has reached me, but only from a distance: 
here I am surrounded with happiness.” | 

Paul and Virginia did not understand this 
reflection; but when they saw that she was 
calm they smiled and continued to caress her. 
Tranquility was thus restored in this happy 
family, and all that had passed was but as a 
storm in the midst of fine weather, which dis- 
turbs the serenity of the atmosphere but for a 
short time, and then passes away. 

The amiable disposition of these children 
unfolded itself daily. One Sunday, at day- 
break, their mothers having gone to mass at 
the church of the Shaddock Grove, the chil- 
dren perceived a negro woman beneath the 
plantains which surrounded their habitation. 
She appeared almost wasted to a skeleton, and 
had no other garment than a piece of coarse 
cloth thrown around her. She threw herself 

3 


34 Paul and Virginia. 


at the feet of Virginia, who was preparing 
the family breakfast, and said: 

“ My good young lady, have pity on a poor 
runaway slave. For a whole month I have 
wandered among these mountains, half dead 
with hunger and often pursued by the hunters 
and their dogs. I fled from my master, a 
rich planter of the Black River, who has used 
me as you see;” and she showed her body 
marked with scars from the lashes she had re- 
ceived. She added, “I was going to drown 
myself, but hearing you lived here, I said to 
myself: Since there are still some good white 
people in this country, I need not die yet.” 

Virginia answered with emotion: 

“Take courage, unfortunate creature! here 
is something to eat;” and she gave her the 
breakfast she had been preparing, which the 
slave in a few minutes devoured. 

When her hunger was appeased, Virginia 
said to her: 

“Poor woman! I should like to go and ask 
forgiveness for you of your master. Surely 
the sight of you will touch him with pity. 
Will you show me the way ?”’ 


Paul and Virginia. 35 


“Angel of heaven!” answered the poor 
negro woman, “I will follow you where you 
please! ” 

Virginia called her brother, and begged 
him to accompany her. The slave led the 
way, by winding and difficult paths, through 
the woods, over mountains, which they 
climbed with difficulty, and across rivers, 
through which they were obliged to wade. At 
length, about the middle of the day, they 
reached the foot of a steep descent upon the 
borders of the Black River. There they per- 
ceived a well-built house, surrounded by ex- 
tensive plantations, and a number of slaves 
employed in their various labors. Their mas- 
ter was walking among them with a pipe in his 
mouth and a switch in his hand. He was a 
tall thin man, of a brown complexion; his eyes 
were sunk in his head, and his dark eyebrows 
were joined in one. Virginia, holding Paul 
by the hand, drew near, and with much emo- 
tion begged him, for the love of God, to par- 
don his poor slave, who stood trembling a few 
paces behind. The planter at first paid little 
attention to the children, who, he saw, were 


36 Paul and Virginia. 


meanly dressed. But when he observed the 
elegance of Virginia’s form and the profusion 
of her beautiful light tresses which had es- 
caped from beneath her blue cap; when he 
heard the soft tone of her voice, which trem- 
bled, as well as her whole frame, while she 
implored his compassion; he took his pipe 
from his mouth, and, lifting up his stick, 
swore, with a terrible oath, that he pardoned 
his slave, not for the love of Heaven, but of 
her who asked his forgiveness. Virginia made 
a sign to the slave to approach her master, 
and instantly sprang away, followed by Peul. 

They climbed up the steep they had de- 
scended, and, having gained the summit, 
seated themselves at the foot of a tree, over- 
come with fatigue, hunger, and thirst. They 
had left their home fasting, and walked five 
leagues since sunrise. Paul said to Virginia: 

“ My dear sister, it is past noon, and I am 
sure you are thirsty and hungry: we shall find 
no dinner here; let us go down the mountain 
again, and ask the master of the poor slave for 
some food.” 


Paul and Virginia. 37 


“Oh no,” answered Virginia, “he frightens 
me too much. Remember what mamma 
sometimes says: ‘The bread of the wicked ts 
like stones in the mouth.’ ” 

“What shall we do, then?” said Paul; 
“these trees produce no fruit to eat, and I 
shall not be able to find even a tamarind or a 
lemon to refresh you.” 

“God will take care of us,” replied Vir- 
ginia; “ He listens to the cry even of the lit- 
tle birds when they ask Him for food.” 

Searcely had she pronounced these words 
when they heard the noise of water falling 
from a neighboring rock. They ran thither, 
and, having quenched their thirst at this erys- 
tal spring, they gathered and ate a few cresses 
which grew on the border of the stream. Soon 
afterward, while they were wandering back- 
ward and forward in search of more solid 
nourishment, Virginia perceived in the thick- 
est part of the forest a young palm tree. The 
kind of cabbage which is found at the top of 
the palm, enfolded within its leaves, is well 
adapted for food; but, although the stock of 
the tree is not thicker than a man’s leg, it 


38 Paul and Virginia. 


grows to above sixty feet in height: The 
wood of the tree, indeed, is composed only of 
very fine filaments; but the bark is so hard 
that it turns the edge of the hatchet, and Paul 
was not furnished even with a knife. At 
length he thought of setting fire to the palm 
tree; but a new difficulty occurred: he had 
no steel with which to strike fire, and, 
although the whole island is covered with 
rocks, I do not believe it is possible to find a 
single flint. Necessity, however, is fertile in 
expedients, and the most useful inventions 
have arisen from men placed in most desti- 
tute situations. 

Paul determined to kindle a fire after the 
manner of the negroes. With the sharp end 
of a stone he made a small hole in the branch 
of a tree that was quite dry, and which he 
held between his feet; he then, with the edge 
of the same stone, brought to a pomt another 
dry branch of a different sort of wood, and, 
afterward, placing the piece of pointed wood 
in the small hole of the branch which he held 
with his feet, and turning it rapidly between 
his hands, in a few minutes smoke and sparks 


ory: 


Paul and Virginia. 39 


of fire issued from the point of contact. Paul 
then heaped together dry grass and branches, 
and set fire to the foot of the palm tree, which 
soon fell to the ground with a tremendous 
erash. The fire was further useful to him in 
stripping off the long, thick and pointed 
leaves within which the cabbage was en- 
closed. Having thus succeeded in obtaining 
this fruit, they ate part of it raw and part 
dressed upon the ashes, which they found 
equally palatable. They made this frugal 
- repast with delight, from the remembrance of 
the benevolent action they had performed in 
the morning; yet their joy was embittered by 
the thoughts of the uneasiness which their 
long absence from home would occasion their 
mothers. Virginia often recurred to this sub- 
ject. But Paul, who felt his strength renewed 
by their meal, assured her that it would not 
be long before they reached home, and by the 
assurance of their safety tranquillized the 
minds of their parents. _ 

After dinner they were much embarrassed 
by the recollection that they had now no 
guide, and that they were ignorant of the 


40 Paul and Virginia. 


way. Paul, whose spirit was not subdued by 
difficulties, said to Virginia: 

“The sun shines full upon our huts at 
noon; we must pass, as we did this morning, 
over that mountain with its three points which 
you see yonder. Come, let us be moving.” 

This mountain was that of the Three 
Breasts, so called from the form of its three 
peaks. They then descended the steep bank 
of the Black River on the northern side, and 
arrived, after an hour’s walk, on the banks of 
a large river, which stopped their further 
progress. This large portion of the island, 
covered as it is with forests, is even now so 
little known that many of its rivers and moun- 
tains have not yet received a name. The 
stream on the banks of which Paul and Vir- 
ginia were now standing rolls foaming over a 
bed of rocks. The noise of the water fright- 
ened Virginia, and she was afraid to wade 
through the current. Paul therefore took her 
up in his arms, and went thus loaded over the 
slippery rocks which formed the bed of the 
river, careless of the tumultuous noise of its 
waters. 


Paul and Virginia. 41 


“Do not be afraid,” cried he to Virginia; 
“I feel very strong with you. If that planter 
at the Black River had refused you the par- 
don of his slave, I would have fought with 
him.” 

“What!” answered Virginia, “with that 
great wicked man? To what have I exposed 
you! Gracious heavens! how difficult it is to 
do good! and yet it is so easy to do wrong.” 

When Paul had crossed the river he wished 
to continue the journey carrying his sister; 
and he flattered himself that he could ascend 
in that way the mountain of the ‘Three 
Breasts, which was still at the distance of half 
a league; but his strength soon failed, and he 
was obliged to set down his burden and to 
rest himself by her side. Virginia then said 
to him: 

“My dear brother, the sun is going down; 
you have still some strength left, but mine 
has quite failed; do leave me here, and return 
home alone to ease the fears of our mothers.” 

“Oh no,” said Paul; “I will not leave you. 
If night overtakes us in this wood, I will light 
a fire, and bring down another palm tree; you 


42 Paul and Virginia. 


shall eat the cabbage, and I will form a cov- 
ering of the leaves to shelter you.” 

In the meantime, Virginia being a little 
rested, she gathered from the trunk of an old 
tree, which overhung the bank of the river, 
some long leaves of the plant called hart’s 
tongue, which grew near its root. Of these 
leaves she made a sort of buskin, with which 
she covered her feet, that were bleeding from 
the sharpness of the stony paths; for in her 
eager desire to do good she had forgotten to 
put on her shoes. Feeling her feet cooled by 
the freshness of the leaves, she broke off a 
branch of bamboo and continued her walk, 
leaning with one hand on the staff and with 
the other on Paul. 

They walked on in this manner slowly 
through the woods; but from the height of the 
trees and the thickness of their foliage they 
soon lost sight of the mountain of the Three 
Breasts, by which they had hitherto directed 
their course, and also of the sun, which was 
now setting. At length they wandered, with- 
out perceiving it, from the beaten path in 
which they had hitherto walked, and found 


Paul and Virginia. 43 


themselves in a labyrinth of trees, underwood 
and rocks, whence there appeared to be ro out- 
let. Paul made Virginia sit down, while he 
ran backward and forward, half frantic, in 
search of a path which might lead them out 
of this thick wood; but he fatigued himself 
to no purpose. He then climbed to the top 
of a lofty tree, whence he hoped at least to 
perceive the mountain of the Three Breasts; 
but he could discern nothing around him but 
the tops of trees, some of which were gilded 
with the last beams of the setting sun. Al- 
ready the shadows of the mountain were 
spreading over the forests in the valleys. The 
wind lulled, as is usually the case at sunset. 
The most profound silence reigned in those 
awful solitudes, which was only interrupted 
by the ery of the deer, who came to their lairs 
in that unfrequented spot. Paul, in the hope 
that some hunter would hear his voice, called 
out as loud as he was able: 

“Come, come to the help of Virginia.” 

But the echoes of the forest alone answered 
his call, and repeated again, “ Virginia! Vir- 
ginia!”’ 


44 Paul and Virginia. 


Paul at length descended from the tree, 
overcome with fatigue and vexation. He 
looked around in order to make some arrange- 
ment for passing the night in that desert; but 
he could find neither fountain or palm tree, 
nor even a branch of dry wood fit for kindling 
a fire. He was then impressed, by experience, 
with the sense of his own weakness, and be- 
gan to weep. 

Virginia said to him: 

“To not weep, my dear brother, or I shall 
be overwhelmed with grief. JI am the cause 
of all your sorrow, and of all that our mothers 
are suffering at this moment. I find we ought 
to do nothing, not even good, without con- 
sulting our parents. Oh, I have been very 
imprudent!” and she began to shed tears. 
“ Let us pray to God, my dear brother,” she 
again said, “and He will hear us.” 

They had scarcely finished their prayer 
when they heard the barking of a dog. 

“Tt must be the dog of some hunter,” said 
Paul, “ who comes here at night to lie in wait 
for the deer.” 


Paul and Virginia. 45 


Soon after, the dog began barking again 
with increased violence. 

“Surely,” said Virginia, “it is Fidele, our 
own dog; yes, now I know his bark. Are we 
then so near home? at the foot of our own 
mountain.” 

A moment after Fidele was at their feet, 
barking, howling, moaning and devouring 
them with his caresses. Before they could 
recover from their surprise they saw Domingo 
running toward them. At the sight of the 
good old negro, who wept for joy, they began 
to weep too, but had not the power to utter a 
syllable. 

When Domingo had recovered himself a 
little, “ Oh, my dear children,” said he, “ how 
miserable have you made your mothers! 
How astonished they were when they re- 
turned with me from mass on not finding you 
at home! Mary, who was at work at_a little 
distance, could not tellus where you were 
gone. I ran backward and forward in the 
plantation, not knowing where to look for 
you. At last I took some of your old 
clothes, and, showing them to Fidele, the 


46 Paul and Virginia. 


poor animal, as if he understood me, 
immediately began to scent your path, 
and conducted me, wagging his tail all 
the while, to the Black River. I there 
saw a planter, who told me you had brought 
back a maroon negro woman, his slave, and 
that he had pardoned her at your request. But 
what a pardon! He showed her to me with 
her feet chained to a block of wood, and an 
iron collar with three hooks fastened around 
her neck. After that, Fidele, still on the 
scent, led me up the steep bank of the Black 
River, where he again stopped, and barked 
with all his might. This was on the brink of 
a spring, near which was a fallen palm tree 
and a fire still smoking. At last he led me to 
this very spot. We are now at the foot of 
the mountain of the Three Breasts, and still 
four good leagues from home. Come, eat and 
recover your strength.’”? Domingo then pre- 
sented them with a cake, some fruit, and a 
large gourd full of beverage composed of 
wine, water, lemon-juice, sugar and nutmeg, 
which their mothers had prepared to invig-— 
orate and refresh them. Virginia sighed at 


Paul and Virginia. 47 


the recollection of the poor slave and at the 
uneasiness they had given their mothers. She 
repeated several times: 

“Oh, how difficult it is to do. good!” 

While she and Paul were taking refresh- 
ment, it being already night, Domingo kin- 
dled a fire; and, having found among the 
rocks a particular kind of twisted wood called 
bois de ronde, which burns when quite green 
and throws out a great blaze, he made a torch 
of it, which he lighted. But when they pre- 
pared to continue their journey a new diffi- 
culty occurred; Paul and Virginia could no 
longer walk, their feet being violently swollen 
and inflamed. Domingo knew not what to 
do—whether to leave them and go in search 
of help, or remain and pass the night with 
them on that spot. 

“ There was a time,” said he, “ when I could 
earry you both together in my arms. But 
now you are grown big, and I am grown 
old.” 

While he was in this perplexity a troop of 
maroon negroes appeared at a short distance 
from them. The chief of the band, approach- 


48 Paul and Virginia. 


ing Paul and Virginia, said to them: “ Good 
little white people, do not be afraid. We saw 
you pass this morning with a negro woman ot 
the Black River. You went to ask pardon 
for her of her wicked master; and we, in re- 
turn for this, will carry you home upon our 
shoulders.” He then made a sign, and four of 
the strongest negroes immediately formed a 
sort of litter with the branches of trees and 
lianas, and, having seated Paul and Virginia 
on it, carried them upon their shoulders. Do- 
mingo marched in front with his lighted 
torch, and then proceeded amidst the rejoic- 
ings of the whole troop, who overwhelmed 
them with their benedictions. 

Virginia, affected by this scene, said to 
Paul, with emotion: 

“Oh, my dear brother! God never leaves 
a good action unrewarded.”’ 

It was midnight when they arrived at the 
foot of their mountain, on the ridges of which 
several fires were lighted. As soon as they 
began to ascend they heard voices exclaim- 
ing: 


Paul and Virginia. 49 


“Ts it you, my children?” They answered 
immediately, and the negroes also: 

“ Yes, yes, 1t is.” 

A moment after they could distinguish 
their mothers and Mary coming toward them 
with lighted sticks in their hands. 

“Unhappy children,” cried Madame de la 
Tour, “where have you been? What agonies 
you have made us suffer!” 

“We have been,” said Virginia, “to the 
Black River, where we went to ask pardon for 
a poor maroon slave, to whom I gave our 
breakfast this morning, because she seemed 
dying of hunger; and these maroon negroes 
have brought us home.” 

Madame de la Tour embraced her daugh- 
ter, without being able to speak; and Vir- 
ginia, who felt her face wet with her mother’s 
tears, exclaimed: 

“ Now I am repaid for all the hardships I 
have suffered.” 

Margaret in a transport of delight pressed 
Paul in her arms, exclaiming: 

“ And you, also, my dear child, you have 
done a good action.” When they reached the 

4 


50 Paul and Virginia. 


cottages with their children, they entertained 
all the negroes with a plentiful repast, after 
which the latter returned to the woods, pray- 
ing Heaven to shower down every description 
of blessing on those good white people. 
Every day was to these families a day of 
happiness and tranquillity. Neither ambi- 
tion nor envy disturbed their repose. They 
did not seek to obtain a useless reputation 
out of doors, which may be procured by arti- 
fice and lost by calumny, but were contented 
to be the sole witnesses and judges of their 
own actions. In this island, where, as is the 
case in most colonies, scandal forms the prin- 
cipal topic of conversation, their virtues, and 
even their names, were unknown. The passer- 
by on the road to the Shaddock Grove, indeed, 
would sometimes ask the inhabitants of the 
plain who lived in the cottages up there, and 
was always told, even by those who did not 
know them, “ They are good people.” The 
modest violet, thus concealed in thorny places, 
sheds all unseen its delightful fragrance 
around. ? 
Slander, which under an appearance of jus- 


Paul and Virginia. 51 


tice naturally inclines the heart to falsehood 
or to hatred, was entirely banished from their 
conversation; for it is impossible not to hate 
men if we believe them to be wicked, or to 
live with the wicked without concealing that 
hatred under a false pretence of good feeling. 
Slander thus puts us ill at ease with others and 
with ourselves. In this little circle, therefore, 
the conduct of individuals was not discussed, 
but the best manner of doing good to all; and 
although they had but little in their power, 
their unceasing good-will and kindness of 
heart made them constantly ready to do what 
they could for others. Solitude, far from 
having blunted these benevolent feelings, had 
rendered their dispositions even more kindly. 
Although the petty scandals of the day fur- 
nished no subject of conversation to them, yet 
the contemplation of Nature filled their minds 
with enthusiastic delight. They adored the 
bounty of that Providence which, by their in- 
strumentality, had spread abundance and 
beauty amid these barren rocks, and had en- 
abled them to enjoy those pure and simple 


52 Paul and Virginia. 


pleasures which are ever grateful and ever 
new. 

Paul, at twelve years of age, was stronger 
and more intelligent than most European 
youths are at fifteen, and the plantations, 
which Domingo merely cultivated, were em- 
bellished by him. He would go with the eld 
negro into the neighboring woods, where he 
would root up the young plants of lemon, 
orange and tamarind trees, the round heads 
of which are so fresh and green, together with 
date-palm trees, which produce fruit filled 
with a sweet cream, possessing the fine per- 
fume of the orange-flower. These trees, 
which had already attained to a considerable 
size, he planted round their little enclosure. 
He had also sown the seed of many trees 
which the second year bear flowers or fruit— 
such as the agathis, encircled with long clus- 
ters of white flowers, which hang from it like 
the crystal pendants of a chandelier; the Per- 
sian lilac, which lifts high in air its gray flax- 
colored branches; the papaw tree, the branch- 
less trunk of which forms a column studded 
with green melons, surmounted by a capital 


Paul and Virginia. 53 


of broad leaves similar to those of the fig 
tree, 

The seeds and kernels of the gum tree, ter- 
minalia, mango, alligator pear, the guava, the 
bread-fruit tree, and the narrow leaved rose- 
apple were also planted by him with profu- 
sion; and the greater number of these trees 
already afforded their young cultivator both 
shade and fruit. His industrious hands dif- 
fused the riches of Nature over even the most 
barren parts of the plantation. Several spe- 
cies of aloes, the Indian fig, adorned with yel- 
low flowers spotted with red, and the thorny 
torch-thistle, grew upon the dark summits of 
the rocks, and seemed to aim at reaching the 
long lianas which, laden with blue or scarlet 
flowers, hung scattered over the steepest parts 
of the mountain. 

I loved to trace the ingenuity he had exer- 
cised in the arrangement of these trees. He 
had so disposed them that the whole could be 
seen at a single glance. In the middle of the 
hollow he had planted shrubs of the lowest 
growth; behind grew the more lofty sorts; 
then trees of the ordinary height; and beyond 


54 Paul and Virginia. 


and above all the venerable and lofty groves 
which border the cireumference. Thus this 
extensive enclosure appeared, from its centre, 
like a verdant amphitheatre decorated with 
fruits and flowers, containing a variety of 
vegetables, some strips of meadow-land, and 
fields of rice and corn. But in arranging these 
vegetable productions to his own taste he 
wandered not too far from the designs of Na- 
ture. Guided by her suggestions, he had 
thrown upon the elevated spots such seeds as 
the winds would scatter about, and near the 
borders of the springs those which float upon 
the water. Every plant thus grew in its 
proper soil, and every spot seemed decorated 
by Nature’s own hand. ‘The streams which 
tell from the summits of the rocks, formed in 
some parts of the valley sparkling cascades, 
and in others were spread into broad mirrors, ~ 
in which were reflected, set in verdure, the 
flowering trees, the overhanging rocks, and 
the azure heavens. 

Notwithstanding the great irregularity of 
the ground, these plantations were, for the 
most part, easy of access. We had, indeed, 


Paul and Virginia. 55 


all given him our advice and assistance in 
order to accomplish this end. He had con- 
ducted one path entirely round the valley, 
and various branches from it led from the cir- 
cumference to the centre. He had drawn 
some advantage from the most rugged spots, 
and had blended in harmonious union level 
walks with the inequalities of the soil, and 
trees which grow wild with the cultivated 
varieties. | With that immense quantity of 
large pebbles which now block up these paths, 
and which are scattered over most of the 
eround of this island, he formed pyramidal 
heaps here and there, at the base of which he 
laid mould and planted rose-bushes, the Bar- 
badoes flower-fence, and other shrubs which 
love to climb the rocks. In a short time the 
dark and shapeless heaps of stones he had 
constructed were covered with verdure or with 
the glowing tints of the most beautiful 
flowers. Hollow recesses on the borders of 
the streams, shaded by the overhanging 
boughs of aged trees, formed rural grottoe, 
impervious to the rays of the sun, in which 
you might enjoy a refreshing coolness during 


56 Paul and Virginia. 


the mid-day heats. One path led to a clump 
of forest trees, in the centre of which, shel- 
tered from the wind, you find a fruit tree 
{aden with produce. Here was a corn-field, 
there an orchard; from one avenue you had a 
view of the cottages, from another of the in- 
accessible summit of the mountain. Beneath 
one tufted bower of gum trees, interwoven 
with lianas, no object whatever could be per- 
ceived; while the point of the adjoining rock, 
jutting out from the mountain, commanded a 
view of the whole enclosure and of the dis- 
tant ocean, where occasionally we could dis- 
cern the distant sail arriving from Europe or 
bound thither. On this rock the two families 
frequently met in the evening, and enjoyed in 
silence the freshness of the flowers, the gentle 
murmurs of the fountain, and the last blended 
harmonies of light and shade. | 

Nothing could be more charming than the 
names which were bestowed upon some of 
the delightful retreats of this labyrinth. The 
rock of which I have been speaking, whence 
they could discern my approach at a consid- 
erable distance, was called The Discovery of 


Paul and Virginia. 57 


Friendship. Paul and Virginia had amused 
themselves by planting a bamboo on that 
spot, and whenever they saw me coming they 
hoisted a httle white handkerchief by way 
of signal of my approach, as they had seen a 
flag hoisted on a neighboring mountain on 
the sight of a vessel at sea. The idea struck 
me of engraving an inscription on the stalk 
of this reed; for I never, in the course of my 
travels, experienced anything: like the pleas- 
ure in seeing a statue or other monument of 
ancient arts as in reading a well-written in- 
scription. It seems to me as if a human voice 
issued from the stone, and, making itself 
heard after the lapse of ages, addressed man 
in the midst of a desert to tell him that he is 
not alone, and that other men, on that very 
spot, had felt and thought and suffered like 
himself. If the inscription belongs to an 
ancient nation which no longer exists, it 
leads the soul through infinite space, and 
strengthens the consciousness of its immor- 
tality by demonstrating that a thought has 
survived the ruins of an empire. 

T inscribed, then, on the little staff of Paul 


58 Paul and Virginia. 


and Virginia’s flag, the following lines of 
‘Horace: 
Fratres Helene, lucida sidera, 
Ventorumque regat pater, 
Obstrictis, aliis, preter Iapiga. 
‘““May the brothers of Helen, bright stars like 


you, and the Father of the winds, guide you; and 
may you feel only the breath of the zephyr.” 


There was a gum tree, under the shade of 
which Paul was accustomed to sit to contem- 
plate the sea when agitated by storms. On 
the bark of this tree I engraved the following 
lines from Virgil: 

Fortunatus et ille deos qui novit agrestes! 


‘““Happy art thou, my son, in knowing only the 
pastoral divinities.” 


And over the door of Madame de la Tour’s 
cottage, where the families so frequently met, 
I placed this line: 

At secura quies, et nescia fallere vita. 


‘Here dwell a calm conscience and a life that 
knows not deceit.” 


But Virginia did not approve of my Latin; 
she said that what I had placed at the foot of 
her flagstaff was too long and too learned. 


Paul and Virginia. 59 


“T should have liked better,” added she, 
“to have seen inscribed, EVER AGITATED, YET 
CONSTANT.” 

“Such a motto,” I answered, “ would have 
been still more applicable to virtue.” My re- 
flection made her blush. 

The delicacy of sentiment of these happy 
families was manifested in everything around 
them. They gave the tenderest names to ob- 
jects in appearance the most indifierent. A 
border of orange, plantain, and rose-apple 
trees, planted round a green sward where Vir- 
ginia and Paul sometimes danced, received 
the name of Concord. An old tree, beneath 
the shade of which Madame de la Tour and 
Margaret used to recount their misfortunes, 
was called the Burial-place of Tears. They 
bestowed the names of Brittany and Nor- 
mandy on two little plots of ground where 
they had sown corn, strawberries and peas. 
Domingo and Mary, wishing, in imitation of 
their mistresses, to recall to mind Angola and 
Foullepointe, the places of their birth in 
Africa, gave those names to tie little fields 


60 Paul and Virginia. 


where the grass was sown with which they 
wove their baskets, and where they had 
planted a calabash tree. Thus, by cultivating 
the productions of their respective climates, 
these exiled families cherished the dear illu- 
sions which bind us to our native country and 
softened their regrets in a foreign land. 
Alas! I have seen these trees, these foun: 
tains, these heaps of stones, which are now so 
completely overthrown—which now, like the 
. desolated plains of Greece, present nothing 
but masses of ruin and affecting remem- 
brances—all but called into life by the many 
charming appellations thus bestowed upon 
them. 

But perhaps the most delightful spot of this 
enclosure was that called Virginia’s Resting- 
place. At the foot of the rock which bore the 
name of the Discovery of Friendship is a 
small crevice whence issues a fountain, form- 
ing, near its source, a little spot of marshy 
soil in the middle of a field of rich grass. At 
the time of Paul’s birth I had made Margaret 
a present of an Indian cocoa which had been 
given me, and which she planted on the bor- 


Paul and Virginia. 61 


der of this fenny ground in order that the tree 
might one day serve to mark the epoch of her 
son’s birth. Madame de la Tour planted an- 
other cocoa with the same view at the birth of 
Virginia. These nuts produced two cocoa 
trees, which formed the only records of the 
two families; one was called Paul’s tree, the 
other Virginia’s. Their growth was in the 
same proportion as that of the two young per- 
sons, not exactly equal; but they rose, at the 
end of twelve years, above the roofs of the 
cottages. Already their tender stalks were 
interwoven, and clusters of young cocoas 
hung from them over the basin of the foun- 
tain. With the exception of these two trees, 
this nook of the rock was left as it had been 
decorated by Nature. On its embrowned and 
moist sides broad plants of maiden-hair glis- 
tened with their green and dark stars, and 
tufts of wave-leaved hart’s tongue, suspended 
like long ribbons of purpled green, floated on 
the wind. Near this grew a chain of the 
Madagascar periwinkle, the flowers of which 
resemble the red gilliflower, and the long- 
podded capsicum, the seed-vessels of which are 


62 Paul and Virginia. 


of the color of blood and more resplendent 
than coral. Near them, the herb balm, with 
its heart-shaped leaves, and the sweet basil, 
which has the odor of the clove, exhaled the 
most delicious perfumes, From the precipitous 
side of the mountain hung the graceful lianas, 
like floating draperies, forming magnificent 
canopies of verdure on the face of the rocks. 
The sea birds, allured by the stillness of these 
retreats, resorted here to pass the night. At 
the hour of sunset we could perceive the eur- 
lew and the stint skimming along the sea- 
shore, the frigate-bird poised high in air, and 
the white bird of the tropic, which abandons 
with the star of day the solitudes of the In- 
dian Ocean. Virginia took pleasure in resting 
herself upon the border of this fountain, deco- 
rated with wild and sublime magnificence. 
She often went thither to wash the linen of 
the family beneath the shade of the two cocoa 
trees, and thither too she sometimes led her 
goats to graze. While she was making cheeses 
of their milk she loved to see them browse on 
the maiden-hair fern which clothed the steep 
sides of the rock, and hung suspended by one 


Paul and Virginia. 63 


of its cornices as on a pedestal. Paul, observ- 
ing that Virginia was fond of this spot, 
brought thither from the neighboring forest 
a great variety of birds’ nests. The old birds, 
following their young, soon established them- 
selves in this new colony. Virginia, at stated 
times, distributed amongst them grains of 
rice, millet and maize. As soon as she ap- 
peared the whistling blackbird, the amadavid 
bird, whose note is so soft, the cardinal, with 
its flame-colored plumage, forsook their 
bushes; the parroquet, green as an emerald, 
descended from the neighboring fan-palms; 
the partridge ran along the grass; all ad- 
vanced promiscuously toward her, like a brood 
of chickens; and she and Paul found an ex- 
haustless source of amusement in observing 
their sports, their repasts, and their loves. 
Amiable children! thus passed your earlier 
days in innocence and in obeying the impulses 
of kindness! How many times on this very 
spot have your mothers, pressing you in their 
arms, blessed Heaven for the consolation of 
your unfolding virtues prepared for their de- 
clining years, while they at the same time 


64 Paul and Virginia. 


enjoyed the satisfaction of seeing you begin 
life under the happiest of auspices! How 
many times, beneath the shade of those rocks, 
have I partaken with them of your rural re- 
pasts, which never cost any animal its life! 
Gourds full of milk, fresh eggs, cakes of rice 
served up on plantain-leaves, with baskets of 
mangoes, oranges, dates, pomegranates, pine- 
apples, furnished a wholesome repast, the 
most agreeable to the eye, as well as delicious 
to the taste, that can possibly be imagined. 

Like the repast, the conversation was mild 
and free from everything having a tendency 
to do harm. Paul often talked of the labors 
of the day and of the morrow. He was con- 
tinually planning something for the accom- 
modation of their little society. Here he dis- 
covered that the paths were rugged, there that 
the seats were uncomfortable, sometimes the 
young arbors did not afford sufficient shade, 
and Virginia might be better pleased else- 
where. 

During the rainy season the two families 
met together in the cottage and employed 
themselves in weaving mats of grass and bas- 


Paul and Virginia. 65 


kets of bamboo. Rakes, spades and hatchets 
were ranged along the walls in the most per- 
fect order; and near these instruments of 
agriculture were heaped its products—bags of 
rice, sheaves of corn, and baskets of plan- 
tains. Some degree of luxury usually accom- 
panies abundance; and Virginia was taught 
by her mother and Margaret to prepare sher 
bet and cordials from the juice of the sugar- 
cane, the lemon, and the citron. 

When night came they all supped together 
by the light of a lamp; after which Madame 
de la Tour or Margaret related some story of 
travelers benighted in those woods of Europe 
that are still infested by banditti, or told a 
dismal tale of some shipwrecked vessel thrown 
by the ‘tempest upon the rocks of a desert 
island. To these recitals the children listened 
with eager attention, and earnestly hoped that 
Heaven would one day grant them the joy of 
performing the rites of hospitality toward 
such unfortunate persons. When the time for 
repose arrived the two families separated and 
retired for the night, eager to meet again the 
following morning. Sometimes they were 


66 Paul and Virginia. 


lulled to repose by the beating of the rains, 
which fell in torrents upon the roofs of their 
cottages, and sometimes by the hollow winds, 
which brought to their ear the distant roar of 
the waves breaking upon the shore. They 
blessed God for their own safety, the feeling 
of which was brought home more forcibly to 
their minds by the sound of remote danger. 
Madame de la Tour occasionally read aloud 
some affecting history of the Old or New Tes- 
tament. Her auditors reasoned but little 
upon these sacred volumes, for their theology 
centered in a feeling of devotion toward the 
Supreme Being, like that of Nature; and their 
morality was an active principle, like that of 
the gospel. These families had no particular 
days devoted to pleasure and others to sad- 
ness. Every day was to them a holy day, and _ 
all that surrounded them one holy temple, in 
which they ever adored the Infinite Intelli- 
gence, the Almighty God, the Friend of hu- 
man kind. <A feeling of confidence in His 
supreme power filled their minds with conso- 
lation for the past, with fortitude under pres- 
ent trials, and with hope in the future. Com- — 


Paul and Virginia. 67 


pelled by misfortune to return almost to a 
state of nature, these excellent women had 
thus developed in their own and their chil- 
dren’s bosoms the feelings most natural to 
the human mind and its best support under 
affliction. 

But, as clouds sometimes arise and cast a 
gloom over the best regulated tempers, so 
whenever any member of this little society 
appeared to be laboring under dejection, the 
rest assembled around and endeavored to 
banish her painful thoughts by amusing the 
mind rather than by grave arguments against 
them. Each performed this kind office in 
their own appropriate manner: Margaret, by 
her gayéty; Madame de la Tour, by the gen- 
tle consolations of religion; Virginia, by her 
tender caresses; Paul, by his frank and enga- 
ging cordiality. Even Mary and Domingo 
hastened to offer their succor, and to weep 
with those that wept. Thus do weak plants 
interweave themselves with each other in 
order to withstand the fury of the tempest. 

During the fine season they went every 
Sunday to the Chureh of the Shaddock 


68 Paul and Virginia.” _ : 


Grove, the steeple of which you see yon- 
der upon the plain. Many wealthy members 
of the congregation, who came to church in 
palanquins, sought the acquaintance of these 
united families and invited them to parties of 
pleasure. But they always repelled these 
overtures with respectful politeness, as they 
were persuaded that the rich and powerful 
seek the society of persons of an inferior sta- 
tion only for the sake of surrounding them- 
selves with flatterers, and that every flatterer 
must applaud alike all the actions of his 
patron, whether good or bad. On the other 
hand, they avoided with equal care too inti- 
mate an acquaintance with the lower class, 
who are ordinarily jealous, calumniating and 
eross. They thus acquired with some the 
character of being timid, and with others of 
pride; but their reserve was accompanied 
with so much obliging politeness, above all 
toward the unfortunate and the unhappy, that 
they insensibly acquired the respect of the . 
rich and the confidence of the poor. 

After service some kind of office was often 
required at their hands by their poor neigh- 


Paul and Virginia. 69 


bors. Sometimes a person troubled in mind 
sought their advice; sometimes a child begged 
them to visit its sick mother in one of the 
adjoining hamlets. They always took with 
them a few remedies for the ordinary dis- 
eases of the country, which they administered 
in that soothing manner which stamps a value 
upon the smallest favors. Above all, they 
met with singular success in administering to 
the disorders of the mind, so intolerable in 
solitude and under the infirmities of a weak- 
ened frame. Madame de la Tour spoke with 
such sublime confidence of the Divinity that 
the sick, while listening to her, almost be- 
lieved Him present. Virginia often returned. 
home with her eyes full of tears, and her 
heart overflowing with delight at having had 
an opportunity of doing good; for to her 
generally was confided the task of preparing 
and administering the medicines—a_ task 
which she fulfilled with angelic sweetness. 
After these visits of charity they sometimes 
extended their walk by the Sloping Moun- 
tain till they reached my dwelling, where I 
used to prepare dinner for them on the banks 


70 Paul and Virginia. 


of the little rivulet which glides near my cot- 
tage. I procured for these oceasions a few 
bottles of old wine, in order to heighten the 
relish of our Oriental repast by the more 
genial productions of Europe. At other times 
we met on the seashore at the mouth of some 
little river, or rather mere brook. We brought 
from home the provisions furnished us by our 
gardens, to which we added those supplied us 
by the sea in abundant variety. We caught 
on these shores the mullet, the roach, and the 
sea-urchin, lobsters, shrimps, crabs, oysters, 
and all other kinds of shellfish. In this way 
we often enjoyed the most tranquil pleasures 
in situations the most terrific. Sometimes, 
seated- upon a rock under the shade of the 
velvet sunfiower tree, we saw the enormous 
waves of the Indian Ocean break beneath our 
feet with a tremendous noise. Paul, who 
could swim like a fish, would advance on the 
reefs to meet the coming billows; then, at 
their near approach, would run back to the 
beach, closely pursued by the foaming 
breakers, which threw themselves with a roar- 
ing noise far on the sands. But Virginia, at 


Paul and Virginia. T1 


this sight, uttered piercing cries, and said that 
such sports frightened her too much. 

Other amusements were not wanting on 
these festive occasions. Our repasts were 
generally followed by the songs and dances 
of the two young people. Virginia sang the 
happiness of pastoral life, and the misery of 
those who were impelled by avarice to cross 
the raging ocean rather than cultivate the 
earth and enjoy its bounties in peace. Some- 
times she performed a pantomime with Paul 
after the manner of the negroes. The first 
language of man is pantomime: it is known 
to all nations, and is so natural and expressive 
that the children of the European inhabitants 
eatch it with facility from the negroes. Vir- 
ginia, recalling, from among the histories 
which her mother had read to her, those which 
had affected her most, represented the princi- 
pal events in them with beautiful simplicity. 
Sometimes at the sound of Domingo’s tanta 
she appeared upon the green sward, bearing a 
pitcher upon her head, and advanced with a 
timid step toward the source of a neighboring 
fountain to draw water. Domingo and Mary, 


72 Paul and Virginia. 


personating the shepherds of Midian, forbade 
her to approach and repulsed her sternly. 
Upon this Paul flew to her succor, beat away 
the shepherds, filled Virginia’s pitcher, and, 
placing it upon her head, bound her brows at 
the same time with a wreath of the red flowers 
of the Madagascar periwinkle, which served 
to heighten the delicacy of her complexion. 
Then, joining in their sports, I took upon my- 
self the part of Raguel, and bestowed upon 
Paul my daughter Zephora in marriage. 
Another time Virginia would represent the 
unhappy Ruth, returning poor and widowed 
with her mother-in-law, who, after so pro- 
longed an absence found herself as unknown 
as in a foreign land. Domingo and Mary per- 
sonated the reapers. The supposed daughter 
of Naomi followed their steps, gleaning here 
and there a few ears of corn. When interro- 
gated by Paul—a part which he performed 
with the gravity of a patriarch—she answered 
his questions with a faltering voice. He 
then, touched with compassion, granted an 
asylum to innocence and hospitality to. mis- 
fortune. He filled her lap with plenty, and, 


Paul and Virginia. 1 


leading her toward us as before the elders of © 
the city, declared his purpose to take her in 
marriage. At this scene Madame de la Tour, 
recalling the desolate situation in which she 
had been left by her relations, her widow- 
hood, and the kind reception she had met with 
from Margaret, succeeded now by the sooth- 
ing hope of a happy union between their chil- 
dren, could not forbear weeping; and these 
mixed recollections of good and evil caused 
us all to unite with her in shedding tears of 
sorrow and of joy. 

These dramas were performed with such an 
air of reality that you might have fancied 
yourself transported to the plains of Syria or 
to Palestine. We were not unfurnished with 
decorations, lights, or an orchestra suitable to 
the representation. The scene was generally 
placed in an open space of the forest, the di- 
verging paths from which formed around us 
numerous arcades of foliage, under which we 
were sheltered from the heat all the middle of 
the day; but when the sun descended toward 
the horizon, its rays, broken by the trunks of 
the trees, darted amongst the shadows of the 


74 Paul and Virginia. 


forest in long lines of light, producing the 
most magnificent effect. Sometimes its broad 
disk appeared at the end of an avenue, light- 
ing it up with insufferable brightness. The 
foliage of the trees, illuminated from beneath 
by its saffron beams, glowed with the lustre of 
the topaz and the emerald. Their brown and 
mossy trunks appeared transformed into col- 
umns of antique bronze; and the birds, which 
had retired in silence to their leafy shades to 
pass the night, surprised to see the radiance 
of a second morning, hailed the star of day 
all together with innumerable carols. 

Night often overtook us during these rural 
entertainments; but the purity of the air and 
the warmth of the climate admitted of our 
sleeping in the woods without incurring any 
danger by exposure to the weather, and no’ 
less secure from the molestation of robbers. 
On our return the following day to our respec- 
tive habitations we found them in exactly the 
same state in which they had been left. In 
this island, then unsophisticated by the pur- 
suits of commerce, such were the honesty and 
primitive manners of the population that the 


Paul and Virginia. 75 


doors of many houses were without a key, and 
even a lock itself was an object of curiosity to 
not a few of the native inhabitants. 

There were, however, some days in the year 
celebrated by Paul and Virginia in a more 
peculiar manner; these were the birthdays of 
their mothers. Virginia never failed the day 
before to prepare some wheaten cakes, which 
she distributed among a few poor white fami- 
lies, born in the island, who had never eaten 
European bread. These unfortunate people, 
uncared for by the blacks, were reduced to live 
on tapioca in the woods; and as they had 
neither the insensibility which is the result of 
slavery, nor the fortitude which springs from 
a liberal education, to enable them to support 
their poverty, their situation was deplorable. 
These cakes were all that Virginia had it in 
her power to give away, but she conferred the 
gift in so delicate a manner as to add tenfold 
to its value. In the first place, Paul was com- 
missioned to take the cakes himself to these 
families, and get their promise to come and 
spend the next day at Madame de la Tour’s. 
Accordingly, mothers of families, with two or 


76 Paul and Virginia. 


three thin, yellow, miserable-looking daugh- 
ters, so timid that they dare not look up, made 
their appearance. Virginia soon put them at 
their ease; she waited upon them with re- 
freshments, the excellence of which she en- 
deavored to heighten by relating some par- 
ticular circumstance which in her own esti- 
mation vastly improved them. One beverage 
had been prepared by Margaret; another by 
her mother; her brother himself had climbed 
some lofty tree for the very fruit she was pre- 
senting. She would then get Paul to dance 
with them, nor would she leave them till she 
saw that they were happy. She wished them 
to partake of the joy of her own family. 

“Tt is only,” she said, “by promoting the 
happiness of others that we can secure our 
own.” 

When they left she generally presented 
them with some little article they seemed to 
fancy, enforcing their acceptance of it by 
some delicate pretext, that she might not ap- 
pear to know they were in want. If she re- 
marked that their clothes were much tattered, 
she obtained her mother’s permission to give 


Paul and Virginia. ‘GE 


them some of her own, and then sent Paul to 
leave them secretly at their cottage doors. 
She thus followed the divine precept,—con- 
cealing the benefactor, and revealing only the 
benefit. } 

You Europeans, whose minds are imbued 
from infancy with prejudices at variance with 
happiness, cannot imagine all the instruction 
and pleasure to be derived from Nature. Your 
souls, confined to a small sphere of intelli- 
gence, soon reach the limit of its artificial en- 
joyments; but Nature and the heart are inex- 
haustible. Paul and Virginia had neither 
clock, nor almanac, nor books of chronology, 
history or philosophy. The periods of their 
lives were regulated by those of the opera- 
tions of Nature, and their familiar conversa- 
tion had a reference to the changes of the 
seasons. They knew the time of day by the 
shadows of the trees; the seasons by the times 
when those trees bore flowers or fruit; and the - 
years by the number of their harvests. These 
soothing images diffused an inexpressible 
charm over their conversation. 

“Tt is time to dine,” said Virginia; “the 


78 Paul and Virginia. 


shadows of the plantain trees are at their 
roots; or, “ Night approaches, the tamarinds 
are closing their leaves.” 

“When will you come and see us?” in- 
quired some of her companions in the neigh- 
borhood. | 

“ At the time of the sugar-canes,” answered 
Virginia. 

“Your visit will be then still more de- 
lightful,” resumed her young acquaintance. 

When she was asked what was her own age 
and that of Paul: 

“My brother,” said she, “is as old as the 
cteat cocoa tree of the fountain, and I am as 
old as the little one; the mangoes have borne 
fruit twelve times, and the orange trees have 
flowered four-and-twenty times since I came 
into the world.” 

Their lives seemed linked to that of the 
trees, like those of fawns or dryads. They 
knew no other historical epochs than those of 
the lives of their mothers, no other chronology 
than that of their orchards, and no other phil- 
osophy than that of doing good and resigning 
themselves to the will of Heaven. 


Paul and Virginia. 79 


What need, indeed, had these young peo- 
ple of riches or learning such as ours? Even 
their necessities and their ignorance increased 
their happiness.. No day passed in which they 
were not of some service to one another, or 
in which they did not mutually impart some 
instruction. Yes, instruction; for if errors 
mingled with it, they were at least not of a 
dangerous character. A pure-minded being 
has none of that description to fear. Thus 
erew these children of Nature. No care had 
troubled their peace, no intemperance had 
corrupted their blood, no misplaced passion 
had depraved their hearts. Love, innocence 
and piety possessed their souls; and those 
intellectual graces were unfolding daily 
in their features, their attitudes and their 
movements. Still in the morning of life, they 
had all its blooming freshness; and surely 
such in the Garden of Eden appeared our first 
parents when, coming from the hands of God, 
they first saw and approached each other, and 
conversed together like brother and sister. 
Virginia was gentle, modest and confiding as 


80 Paul and Virginia. 


Eve; and Paul, like Adam, united the stature 
of manhood with the simplicity of a child, 

Sometimes, if alone with Virginia, he has 
a thousand times told me, he used to say to 
her, on his return from labor: 

“When I am wearied the sight of you re- 
freshes me. If from the summit of the moun- 
tain I perceive you below in the valley, you 
appear to me in the midst of our orchard like 
a blooming rose-bud. If you go toward our 
mother’s house, the partridge when it runs to 
meet its young has a shape less beautiful and 
a step less light. When I lose sight of you 
through the trees, I have no need to see you 
in order to find you again. Something of you, 
I know not how, remains for me in the air 
through which you have passed, on the grass 
whereon you have been seated. When I 
come near you, you delight all my senses. 
The azure of the sky is less charming than 
the blue of your eyes, and the song of the 
amadavid bird less soft than the sound of your 
voice. If I only touch you with the tip of my 
finger, my whole frame trembles with pleas- 
ure. Do you remember the day when we 


paatiicnesnaieeincioee 


Paul and Virginia. 81 


crossed over the great stones of the river of 
the Three Breasts? I was very tired before 
we reached the bank, but as soon as I had 
taken you in my arms I seemed to have wings 
like a bird. Tell me by what charm you have 
thus enchanted me? Is it by your wisdom? 
—Our mothers have more than either of us. 
Is it by your caresses¢—They embrace me 
much oftener than you. I think it must be 
by your goodness. I shall never forget how 
you walked barefooted to the Black River to 
ask pardon for the poor runaway slave. Here, 
my beloved, take this flowering branch of a 
lemon tree which I have gathered in the 
forest: you will let it remain at night near 
your bed. Eat this honeycomb, too, which I 
have taken for you from the top of a rock. 
But first lean on my bosom and [I shall be re- 
freshed.”’ 
Virginia would answer him: 

“ Oh, my dear brother, the rays of the sun 
in the morning on the tops of the rocks give 
me less joy than the sight of you. I love my 
mother, I love yours, but when they call you 
their son I love them a thousand times more. 

6 


82 Paul and Virginia. 


When they caress you I feel it more sensibly 
than when I am caressed myself. You ask 
me what makes you love me. Why, all crea- 
tures that are brought up together love one 
another. Look at our birds; reared up in the 
same nests, they love each other as we do; 
they are always together like us. Hark! how 
they call and answer from one tree to another. 
So when the echoes bring to my ears the air 
which you play on your flute on the top of 
the mountain, I repeat the words at the bot- 
tom of the valley. You are dear to me more 
especially since the day when you wanted -to 
fight the master of the slave for me. Since 
that time how often have I said to myself, 
‘Ah, my brother has a good heart; but for 
him I should have died of terror.’ I pray to 
God every day for my mother and for yours; 
for you and for our poor servants; but when 
I pronounce your name my devotion seems to 
increase; I ask so earnestly of God that no 
harm may befall you! Why do you go so far 
and climb so high to seek fruits and flowers 
for me? Have we not enough in our garden 
already? How much you are fatigued—you 


Paul and Virginia. 83 


look so warm!” and with her little white hand- 
kerchief she would wipe the damps from his 
face and then’ imprint a tender kiss on his 
forehead. 

For some time past, however, Virginia had 
felt her heart agitated by new sensations. 
Her beautiful blue eyes lost their lustre, her 
cheek its freshness, and her frame was over- 
powered with a universal languor. Serenity 
no longer sat upon her brow, nor smiles played 
upon her lips. She would become all at once 
gay without cause for joy, and melancholy 
without any subject for grief. She fled her 
innocent amusements, her gentle toils, and 
even the society of her beloved family, wan- 
dering about the most unfrequented parts of 
the plantations, and seeking everywhere the 
rest which she could nowhere find. Some- 
times at the sight of Paul she advanced sport- 
ively to meet. him, but when about to accost 
him was overcome by a sudden confusion; her 
pale cheeks were covered with blushes, and 
her eyes no longer dared to meet those of her 
brother. Paul said to her: 


84 Paul and Virginia. 


“The rocks are covered with verdure, our 
birds begin to sing when you approach, every- 
thing around you is gay, and you only are un- 
happy.” He then endeavored to soothe her by 
his embraces, but she turned away her head, 
and fled trembling, toward her mother. The 
caresses of her brother excited too much emo- 
tion in her agitated heart, and she sought in 
the arms of her mother refuge from herself. 
Paul, unused to the secret windings of the 
female heart, vexed himself in vain in en- 
deavoring to comprehend the meaning of 
these new and strange caprices. Misfortunes 
seldom come alone, and a serious calamity now 
impended over these families. 

One of those summers which sometimes 
desolate the countries situated between the 
tropics now began to spread its ravages over 
this island. It was near the end of Decem- 
ber, when the sun, in Capricorn, darts over 
the Mauritius, during the space of three 
weeks, its vertical fires. The southeast wind, 
which prevails throughout almost the whole 
year, no longer blew. Vast columns of dust 


Paul and Virginia. 85 


arose from the highways and hung suspended 
in the air; the ground was everywhere broken 
into clefts; the grass was burnt up; hot exha- 
lations issued from the sides of the mountains, 
and their rivulets for the most part became 
dry. No refreshing cloud ever arose from the 
sea; fiery vapors only during the day ascended 
from the plains, and appeared at sunset like 
the reflection of a vast conflagration. Night 
brought no coolness to the heated atmosphere, 
and the red moon rising in the misty horizon 
appeared of supernatural magnitude. The 
drooping cattle on the sides of the hills, stretch- 
ing out their necks toward heaven and pant- 
ing for breath, made the valleys re-echo with 
their melancholy lowings; even the Caffre by 
whom they were led threw himself upon the 
earth in search of some cooling moisture, but 
his hopes were vain; the scorching sun had 
penetrated the whole soil, and the stifling 
atmosphere everywhere resounded with the 
buzzing noise of insects seeking to allay their 
thirst with the blood of men and of animals. 
During this sultry season Virginia’s rest- 


86 Paul and Virginia. 


lessness and disquictude were much increased. 
One night in particular, being unable to sleep, 
she arose from her bed, sat down, and re- 
turned to rest again, but could find in no atti- 
tude either slumber or repose. At length she 
bent her way, by the light of the moon, 
toward her fountain, and gazed at its spring, 
which, notwithstanding the drought, still 
trickled in silver threads down the brown sides 
of the rock. She flung herself into the basin: 
its coolness reanimated her spirits and a thou- 
sand soothing remembrances came to her 
mind. She recollected that in her infaney 
her mother and Margaret had amused them- 
selves by bathing her with Paul in this very 
spot; that he afterward, reserving this bath 
for her sole use, had hollowed out its bed, 
covered the bottom with sand, and sown aro- 
matic herbs around its borders. She saw m 
the water, upon her naked arms and bosom, 
the reflection of the two coeoa trees which 
were planted at her own and her brother’s 
birth, and which interwove above her head 
their green branches and young fruit. She 
thought of Paul’s friendship, sweeter than 


Paul and Virginia. 87 


the odor of the blossoms, purer than the 
waters of the fountain, stronger than the 
intertwining palm tree, and she sighed. 
Reflecting on the hour of the night and 
the profound solitude, her imagination 
became disturbed. Suddenly she flew af- 
frighted from those dangerous shades, and 
those waters which seemed to her hotter 
than the tropical sunbeam, and ran to her 
mother for refuge. More than once, wishing 
to reveal her sufferings, she pressed her 
mother’s hand within her own; more than 
once she was ready to pronounce the name of 
Paul; but her oppressed heart left her lips no 
power of utterance, and, leaning her head on 
her mother’s bosom, she bathed it with her 
tears. 

Madame de la Tour, though she easily dis- 
cerned the source of her daughter’s uneasi- 
ness, did not think proper to speak to her on 
the subject. 

“My dear child,” she said, “ offer up your 
supplications to God, who disposes at His will 
of health and of life. He subjects you to trial 
now, in order to recompense you hereafter. 


88 Paul and Virginia. 


Remember that we are only placed upon 
earth for the exercise of virtue.” 

The excessive heat in the meantime raised 
vast masses of vapor from the ocean, which 
hung over the island like an immense parasol, 
and gathered round the summits of the moun- 
tains. Long flakes of fire issued from time to 
time from these mist-embosomed peaks. The 
most awful thunder soon after re-echoed 
through the woods, the plains-and the valleys; 
the rain fell from the skies in cataracts; foam- 
ing torrents rushed down the sides of this 
mountain; the bottom of the valley became a 
sea, and the elevated platform on which the 
cottages were built a little island. The aceu- 
mulated waters, having no other outlet, 
rushed with violence through the narrow 
gorge which leads into the valley, tossing and 
roaring, and bearing along with them a min- 
gled wreck of soil, trees and rocks. 

The trembling families meantime addressed 
their prayers to God all together in the cot- 
tage of Madame de la Tour, the roof of which | 
cracked fearfully from the force of the winds. 
So incessant and vivid were the lghtnings 


Paul and Virginia, 89 


that, although the doors and window-shutters 
were securely fastened, every object without 
could be distinctly seen through the joints in 
the wood-work. Paul, followed by Domingo, 
went with intrepidity from one cottage to 
another, notwithstanding the fury of the tem- 
pest: here supporting a partition with a but- 
tress, there driving in a stake, and only return- 
ing to the family to calm their fears by the ex- 
pression of a hope that the storm was passing 
away. Accordingly, in the evening the rains 
ceased, the trade-winds of the south-east pur- 
sued their ordinary course, the tempestuous 
clouds were driven away to the northward, 
and the setting sun appeared in the horizon. 
Virginia’s first wish was to visit the spot 
called her Resting-place. Paul approached 
her with a timid air and offered her the assist- 
ance of his arm; she accepted it with a smile, 
and they left the cottage together. The air 
was clear and fresh; white vapors arose from 
the ridges of the mountain, which was fur- 
rowed here and there by the courses of tor- 
rents, marked in foam, and now beginning to 
dry up on all sides. As for the garden, it was 


30 Paul and Virginia. 


completely torn to. pieces by deep water- 
courses, the roots of most of the fruit trees 
were laid bare, and vast heaps of sand covered 
the borders of the meadows, and had choked 
up Virginia’s bath. The two cocoa trees, 
however, were still erect, and still retained 
their freshness; but they were no longer sur- 
rounded by turf or arbors or birds, except a 
few amadavid birds, which, upon the points 
of the neighboring rocks, were lamenting, in 
plaintive notes the loss of their young. 

At the sight of this general desolation Vir- 
ginia exclaimed to Paul: 

“You brought birds hither, and the hurri- 
eane has killed them. You planted this gar- 
den, and it is now destroyed. Everything 
then upon earth perishes, and it is only 
Heaven that is not subject to change.” 

“Why,” answered Paul, “cannot I give 
you something that belongs to Heaven? But 
I have nothing of my own even upon the 
earth.” 

Virginia, with a blush, replied: 

“You have the picture of St. Paul.” 

As soon as she had uttered the words he 


Paul and Virginia. 91 


flew in quest of it to his mother’s cottage. 
_ This picture was a miniature of Paul the Her- 
mit, which Margaret, who viewed it with feel- 
ings of great devotion, had worn at her neck 
while a girl, and which, after she became a 
mother, she had placed round her child’s. It 
had even happened that being, while preg- 
nant, abandoned by all the world, and con- 
stantly occupied in contemplating the image 
of this benevolent recluse, her offspring had 
contracted some resemblance to this revered 
object. She therefore bestowed upon him the 
name of Paul, giving him for his patron a 
saint who had passed his life far from mau- 
kind, by whom he had been first deceived and 
then forsaken. 

Virginia, on receiving this little present 
from the hands of Paul, said to him, with 
emotion: 

“My dear brother, I will never part with 
this while I live; nor will I ever forget that 
you have given me the only thing you have in 
the world.” 

At this tone of friendship, this unhoped-for 
return of familiarity and tenderness, Paul at- 


92 Paul and Virginia. 


tempted to embrace her; but, light as a bird, 
she escaped him and fled away, leaving him 
astonished and unable to account for conduct 
so extraordinary. 

_ Meanwhile Margaret said to Madame de la 
Tour: 

“Why do we not unite our children by mar- 
riage? They have a strong attachment for 
each other, and, though my son hardly un- 
derstands the real nature of his feelings, yet 
great care and watchfulness will be necessary. 
Under such circumstances it will be as well 
not to leave them too much together.” 

Madame de la Tour replied: 

“They are too young and too poor. What 
grief would it occasion us to see Virginia 
bring into the world unfortunate children 
whom she would not perhaps have sufficient 
strength to rear! Your negro, Domingo, is 
almost too old to labor; Mary is infirm. As 
for myself, my dear friend, at the end of fif- 
teen years I find my strength greatly de- 
creased; the feebleness of age advances rap- 
idly in hot climates, and, above all, under the 
pressure of misfortune. Paul is our only hope: 


Paul and Virginia. 93 


let us wait till he comes to maturity, and his 
increased strength enables him to support us 
by his labor: at present you well know that 
we have only sufficient to supply the wants of 
the day: but were we to send Paul for a short 
time to the Indies, he might acquire by com- 
merce the means of purchasing some slaves, 
and at his return we could unite him to Vir- 
ginia; for I am persuaded no one on earth 
would render her so happy as your son. We 
will consult our neighbor on this subject.” 

They accordingly asked my advice, which 
was in accordance with Madame de la Tour's 
opinion. 

“The Indian seas,” I observed to them, 
“are calm, and in choosing a favorable time 
of the year the voyage out is seldom longer 
than six weeks; and the same time may be 
allowed for the return home. We will furnish 
Paul with a little venture from my neighbor- 
hood, where he is much beloved. If we were 
only to supply him with some raw cotton, of 
which we make no use for want of mills to 
work it; some ebony, which is here so common 
that it serves us for firing; and some rosin, 


94 Paul and Virginia. 


which is found in our woods,—he would be 
able to sell those articles, though useless here, 
to good advantage in the Indies.” 

I took upon myself to obtain permission 
from Monsieur de la Bourdonnais to under- 
take this voyage, and I determined previously 
to mention the affair to Paul. But what was 
my surprise when this young man said to me, 
with a degree of good sense above his age: 

“And why do you wish me to leave my 
family for this precarious pursuit of fortune? 
Is there any commerce in the world more ad- 
vantageous than the culture of the ground, 
which yields sometimes fifty or a hundred- 
fold? If we wish to engage in commerce, can 
we do not do so by carrying our superfluities to 
the town without my wandering to the In- 
dies? Our mothers tell me that Domingo is 
old and feeble; but I am young and gather 
strength every day. If any accident should 
happen during my absence—above all to Vir- 
ginia, who already suffers— Oh, no, no! I 
cannot resolve to leave them.” 

So decided an answer threw me into great 
perplexity, for Madame de la Tour had not 


Paul and Virginia. 95 


concealed from me the cause of Virginia’s ill- 
ness and want of spirits, and her desire of 
separating these young people till they were 
a few years older. I took care, however, not 
to drop anything which could lead Paul to 
suspect the existence of these motives. 

About this period a ship from France 
brought Madame de la Tour a letter from her 
aunt. The fear of death, without which 
hearts as insensible as hers would never feel, 
had alarmed her into compassion. When she 
wrote she was recovering from a dangerous 
illness, which had, however, left her incurably 
languid and weak. She desired her niece to 
return to France, or, if her health forbade her 
to undertake so long a voyage, she begged her 
to send Virginia, on whom she promised to 
bestow a good education, to procure for her a 
splendid marriage, and leave her heiress of 
her whole fortune. She concluded by en- 
joining strict obedience to her will, in grati- 
tude, she said, for her great kindness. 

At the perusal of this letter general con- 
sternation spread itself through the whole 
assembled party. Domingo and Mary began 


96 ~ Paul and Virginia. 


to weep. Paul, motionless with surprise, 
appeared almost ready to burst with indigna- 
tion; while Virginia, fixing her eyes anxiously 
upon her mother, had not power to utter a 
single word. 

“ And can you now leave us?” cried Mar- 
garet to Madame de la Tour. 

“No, my dear friend; no, my beloved chil- 
dren,” replied Madame de la Tour; “I will 
never leave you. I have lived with you, and 
with you I will die. I have known no happi- 
ness but in your affection. If my health be 
deranged, my past misfortunes are the cause. 
My heart has been deeply wounded by the 
cruelty of my relations and by the loss of my 
beloved husband. But I have since found 
more consolation and more real happiness with 
you in these humble huts than all the wealth 
of my family could now lead me to expect in 
my own country.” 

At this soothing language every eye over- 
flowed with tears of delight. 

Paul, pressing Madame de la Tour in his 
arms, exclaimed: 

“Neither will I leave you. I will not go 





Paul and Virginia. 97 


to the Indies. We wil all labor for you, dear 
mamma, and you shall never feel any want 
with us.” 

But of the whole society, the person who 
displayed the least transport, and who prob- 
ably felt the most, was Virginia, and during 
the remainder of the day the gentle gayety 
which flowed from her heart, and proved that 
her peace of mind was restored, completed the 
general satisfaction. 

At sunrise the next day, just as they had 
concluded offering up, as usual, their morning 
prayer before breakfast, Domingo came to 
inform them that a gentleman on horseback, 
followed by two slaves, was coming toward 
the plantation. It was Monsieur de la Bour- 
donnais. He entered the cottage, where he 
found the family at breakfast. Virginia had 
prepared, according to the custom of the 
country, coffee, and rice boiled in water. To 
these she had added hot yams and fresh plan- 
tains. ‘The leaves of the plantain tree sup- 
plied the want of table-linen; and calabash 
sheils, split in two, served for cups. 

the governor exhibited, at first, some 


98 Paul and Virginia. 


astonishment at the homeliness of the dwell- 
ing; then, addresing himself to Madame de la 
Tour, he observed that, although public affairs 
drew his attention too much from the con- 
cerns of individuals, she had many claims on 
his good offices. “ You have an aunt at Paris, 
madame,” he added, “ a woman of quality, 
and immensely rich, who expects that you will 
hasten to see her, and who means to bestow 
upon you her whole fortune.” 

Madame de la Tour replied that the state 
of her health would not permit her to under- 
take so long a voyage. 

“ At least,” resumed Monsieur de la Bour- 
donnais, “ you cannot without justice deprive 
this amiable young lady, your daughter, of so 
noble an inheritance. I will not conceal from 
you that your aunt has made use of her influ- 
ence to secure your daughter being sent to 
her, and that I have received official letters in 
which I am ordered to exert my authority, it 
necessary, to that effect. But as I only wish 
to employ my power for the purpose of ren- 
dering the inhabitants of this country happy, 
I expect from your good sense the voluntary 


Paul and Virginia. gG 


sacrifice of a few years upon which your 
daughter’s establishment in the world and the 
welfare of your whole life depends. Where- 
fore do we come to these islands? Is it not to 
acquire a fortune? And will it not be more 
agreeable to return and find it in your own 
country ?” 

He then took a large bag of piastres from 
one of his slaves and placed it upon the table. 
“This sum,” he continued, “is allotted by 
your aunt to defray the outlay necessary for 
the equipment of the young lady for her voy- 
age.” Gently reproaching Madame de la 
Tour for not having had recourse to him in 
her difficulties, he extolled at the same time 
her noble fortitude. 

Upon this Paul said to the governor: 

“My mother did apply to you, sir, and you 
received her ill.” 

“Have you another child, madam?” said 
Monsieur de la Bourdonnais to Madame de la 
Tour. 

“No, sir,” she replied; “this is the son of 
my friend; but he and Virginia are equally 


100 Paul and Virginia. 


dear to us, and we mutually consider them 
both as our own children.” 


“ Young man,” 


said the governor to Paul, 
“when you have acquired a little more experi- 
ence of the world, you will know that it is 
the misfortune of people in place to be de- 
ceived, and bestow in consequence upon in- 
triguing vice that which they would wish to 
give to modest merit.” 

Monsieur de la Bourdonnais, at the request 
of Madame de la Tour, placed himself next to 
her at table, and breakfasted, after the manner 
of the Creoles, upon coffee mixed with rice 
boiled in water. He was delighted with the 
order and cleanliness which prevailed in the 
little cottage, the harmony of the two inter- 
esting families, and the zeal of their old ser- 
vants. ‘“ Here,’ he exclaimed, “I discern 
only wooden furniture, but I find serene coun- 
tenances and hearts of gold.” 

Paul, enchanted with the affability of the 
governor, said to him: 

ait ae to be your friend, for you are a 
good man.’ 

Monsieur de la Bourdonnais received with 


Paul and Virginia. 101 


pleasure this insular compliment, and, taking 
Paul by the hand, assured him he might rely 
apon his friendship. 

After breakfast he took Madame de la 
Tour aside and informed her that an oppor- 
tunity would soon offer itself of sending her 
daughter to France, in a ship which was going 
to sail in a short time; that he would put her 
under the charge of a lady, one of the passen- 
gers, who was a relation of his own; and that 
she must not think of renouncing an immense 
fortune on account of the pain of being sepa- 
rated from her daughter for a brief interval. 
“Your aunt,” he added, “cannot live more 
than two years; of this I am assured by her 
friends. Think of it seriously. Fortune does 
not visit us every day. Consult your friends. 
I am sure that every person of good sense will 
be of my opinion.” 

She answered, that, as she desired no other 
happiness henceforth in the world than in pro- 
moting that of her daughter, she hoped to be 
allowed to leave her departure for France 
entirely to her own inclination. 

Madame de la Tour was not sorry to find an 


102 Paul and Virginia. 


opportunity of separating Paul and Virginia 
for a short time, and provide by this means 
for their mutual felicity at a future period. 
She took her daughter aside and said to her: 

“ My dear child, our servants are now old. 
Paul is still very young, Margaret is advanced 
in years, and J am already infirm. If I should 
die what would become of you, without for- 
tune, in the midst of these deserts? You 
would then be left alone, without any person 
who could afford you much assistance, and 
vould be obliged to labor without ceasing as a 
hired servant in order to support your 
wretched existence. This idea overcomes me 
with sorrow.” 

Virginia answered: 

“ God has appointed us to labor and to bless 
Him every day. Up to this time He has never 
forsaken us, and He never will forsake us in 
time to come. His providence watches most 
especially over the unfortunate. You have 
told me this very often, my dear mother! I 
cannot resolve to leave you.” 

Madame de la Tour replied, with much 
emotion: 


Paul and Virginia. 103 


“I have no other aim than to render you 
happy, and to marry you one day to Paul, 
who is not really your brother. Remember, 
then, that his fortune depends upon you.” 

A young girl who is in love believes that 
every one else is ignorant of her passion; she 
throws over her eyes the veil with which she 
covers the feelings of her heart; but when it 
is once lifted by a friendly hand, the hidden 
sorrows of her attachment escape as through 
a newly-opened harrier and the sweet out- 
pourings of unrestrained confidence succeed 
to her former mystery and reserve. Virginia, 
deeply affected by this new proof of her 
mother’s tenderness, related to her the cruel 
struggles she had undergone, of which 
Heaven alone had been witness; she saw, she 
said, the hand of Providence in the assistance 
of an affectionate mother, who approved of 
her attachment, and would guide her by her 
counsels; and as she was now strengthened by 
such support, every consideration led her to 
remain with her mother, without anxiety for 
the present and without apprehension for the 
future. 


104 Paul and Virginia. 


Madame de la Tour, perceiving that this 
confidential conversation had produced an 
effect altogether different from that which she 
expected, said: 

“My dear child, I do not wish to constrain 
you; think over it at leisure, but conceal your 
affection from Paul. It is better not to let a 
man know that the heart of his mistress is 
gained.” 

Virginia and her mother were sitting 
together by themselves the same evening, 
when a tall man, dressed in a blue cassock, 
entered their cottage. He was a missionary 
priest and the confessor of Madame de la Tour 
and her daughter, who had now been sent to 
them by the governor. 

“My children,” he exclaimed as he entered, 
“ God be praised! you are now rich. You can 
now attend to the kind suggestions of your 
benevolent hearts and do good to the poor. I 
know what Monsieur de la Bourdonnais has 
said to you, and what you have said in reply. 
Your health, dear madam, obliges you to re- 
main here; but you, young lady, are without 
excuse. We must obey the direction of Provi- 


Paul and Virginia. 105 


dence, and we must also obey our aged rela- 
tions, even when they are unjust. <A sacri- 
fice is required of you, but it is the will of 
God. Our Lord devoted Himself for you, 
and you, in imitation of His example, must 
give up something for the welfare of your 
family. Your voyage to France will end 
happily. You will surely consent to go, my 
dear young lady.” 

Virginia, with downcast eyes, answered, 
trembling: 

“Tf it is the command of God, I will not 
presume to oppose it. Let the will of God be 
done!” As she uttered these words she wept. 

The priest went away in order to inform 
the governor of the success of his mission. 
In the meantime, Madame de la Tour sent 
Domingo to request me to come to her, that 
she might consult me respecting Virginia’s 
departure. I was not at all of opinion that 
she ought to go. I considered it as a fixed 
principle of happiness that we ought to pre- 
fer the advantages of nature to those of for- 
tune, and never go in search of that at a dis- 
tance which we may find at home, in our own 


106 Paul and Virginia. 


bosoms. But what could be expected “from 
my advice in opposition to the illusions of a 
splendid fortune?—or from my simple rea- 
soning when in competition with the preju- 
dices of the world and an authority held 
sacred by Madame de la Tour? This lady, 
indeed, had only consulted me out of polite- 
ness; she had ceased to deliberate since she 
had heard the decision of her confessor. Mar- 
garet herself—who, notwithstanding the ad- 
vantages she expected for her son from the 
possession of Virginia’s fortune, had hitherto 
opposed her departure—made no further ob- 
jections. 

As for Paul, in ignorance of what had been 
determined, but alarmed at the secret conver- 
sations which Virginia had been holding with 
her mother, he abandoned himself to melan- 
choly. 





“ They are plotting something against me,” 
cried he, “for they conceal everything from 
me.” 

A report having in the meantime been 
spread in the island that fortune had visited 
these rocks, merchants of every description 


Paul and Virginia. 107 


were seen climbing their steep ascent. Now 
for the first time were seen displayed in these 
humble huts the richest stuffs of India; the 
fine dimity of Gondelore; the handkerchiefs 
of Pellicate and Masulipatam: the plain, 
striped and embroidered muslins of Dacca, so 
beautifully transparent; the delicately white 
cottons of Surat; and linens of all colors. 
They also brought with them the gorgeous 
silks of China, satin damasks, some white, and 
others grass-green and bright red; pink taf- 
fetas, with a profusion of satins and gauze of 
Tonquin, both plain and decorated with 
flowers; soft pekins, downy as cloth; with 
white and yellow nankeens and the calicoes 
of Madagascar. 

Madame de la Tour wished her daughter to 
purchase whatever she liked; she only exam- 
ined the goods and inquired the price, to take 
care that the dealers did not cheat her. Vir- 
ginia made choice of everything she thought 
would be useful or agreeable to her mother or 
to Margaret and her son. 

“This,” said she, “ will be wanted for fur- 


nishing the cottage, and that will be very use- 


108 Paul and Virginia. 


ful to Mary and Domingo.” In short, the 
bag of piastres was almost emptied before she 
even began to consider her own wants, and 
she was obliged to receive back for her own 
use a share of the presents which she had dis- 
tributed among the family circle. 

Paul, overcome with sorrow at the sight of 
these gifts of fortune, which he felt were a 
presage of Virginia’s departure, came a few 
days after to my dwelling. With an air of 
deep despondeney he said to me: 

“My sister is going away; she is already 
making preparations for her voyage. I con- 
jure you to come and exert your influence 
over her mother and mine, in order to detain 
her here.” I could not refuse the young 
man’s solicitations, althongh well convinced 
that my representations would be unavailing. 

Virginia had ever appeared to me charming 
when clad in the coarse cloth of Bengal, with 
a red handkerchief tied round her head: you 
may therefore imagine how much her beauty 
was increased when she was attired in the 
graceful and elegant costume worn by the 
ladies of this country. She had on a white 


Paul and Virginia. 109 


muslin dress, lined with pink taffeta. Her 
somewhat tall and slender figure was shown 
to advantage in her new attire, and the simple 
arrangement of her hair accorded admirably 
with the form of her head. Her fine blue 
eyes were filled with an expression of melan- 
choly, and the struggles of passion, with 
which her heart was agitated, imparted a flush 
to her cheek and to her voice a tone of deep 
emotion. The contrast between her pensive 
look and her gay habiliments rendered her 
more interesting than ever, nor was it possi- 
ble to see or hear her unmoved. 

Paul became more and more melancholy; 
and at-length Margaret, distressed at the sit- 
uation of her son, took him aside and said to 
him: 

“Why, my dear child, will you cherish vain 
hopes, which will only render your disappoint- 
ment more bitter? It is time for me to make 
known to you the secret of your life and of 
mine. Mademoiselle de la Tour belongs, by 
her mother’s side, to a rich and noble family, 
while you are but the son of a poor peasant- 
girl; and, what is worse, you are illegitimate.” 


110 Paul and Virginia. 


Paul, who had never heard this last expres- 
sion before, inquired with eagerness its mean- 
ing. 

His mother replied: 

“T was not married to your father. When 
I was a girl, seduced by love, I was guilty of a 
weakness of which you are the offspring. The 
consequence of my fault is that you are de- 
prived of the protection of a father’s family, 
and by my flight from home you have also 
lost that of your mother’s. Unfortunate child! 
you have no relation in the world but me ! ” 
and she shed a flood of tears. 

Paul, pressing her in his arms, exclaimed, 
“Oh, my dear mother! since I have no rela- 
tion in the world but you, I will love you all 
the more. But what a secret have you just 
disclosed to me! I now see the reason why 
Mademoiselle de la Tour has estranged herself 
so much from me for the last two months, and 
why she has determined to go to France. Ah! 
I perceive too well that she despises me.” 

The hour of supper being arrived, we gath- 
ered round the table, but the different sensa- 
tions with which we were agitated left us but 


Paul and Virginia. 111 


little inclination to eat, and the meal, if such 
it may be called, passed in silence. Virginia 
was the first to rise; she went out, and seated 
herself on the very spot where we now are. 
Paul hastened after her and sat down by her 
side. Both of them, for some time, kept a 
profound silence. It was one of those deli- 
cious nights which are so common between the 
tropics, and to the beauty of which no pencil 
ean do justice. The moon appeared in the 
midst of the firmament surrounded by a cur- 
tain of clouds, which was gradually unfolded 
by her beams. Her light insensibly spread 
itself over the mountains of the island, and 
their distant peaks glistened with a silvery 
ereen. The winds were perfectly still. We 
heard among the woods, at the bottom of the 
valleys and on the summits of the rocks, the 
pipirg cries and the soft notes of the birds 
wantoning in their nests, and rejoicing in the 
brightness of the night and the serenity of the 
atmosphere. The hum of insects was heard 
in the grass. The stars sparkled in the heay- 
ens, and their lucid orbs were reflected in 
trembling sparkles from the tranquil bosom of 


112 Paul and Virginia. 


the ocean. Virginia’s eye wandered distract- 
edly over its vast and gloomy horizon, dis- 
tinguishable from the shore of the island only 
by the red fires in the fishing-boats. She per- 
ceived at the entrance of the harbor a light 
and a shadow; these were the watch-lights 
and the hull of the vessel in which she was 
to embark for Europe, and which, all ready 
for sea, lay at anchor waiting for a breeze. 
Affected at this sight, she turned away her 
head in order to hide her tears from Paul. 

Madame de la Tour, Margaret, and I were 
seated at a little distance, beneath the plan- 
tain trees, and, owing to the stillness of the 
night, we distinctly heard their conversation, 
which I have not forgotten. 

Paul said to her: 

“You are going away from us, they tell me, 
in three days. You do not fear, then, to en- 
counter the danger of the sea, at the sight of 
which you are so much terrified ?” 

“T must perform my duty,” answered Vir- 
ginia, “ by obeying my parent.” 

“You leave us,” resumed Paul, “for a dis- 
tant relation, whom you have never seen.” 


~ 


Paul and Virginia. 113 


“Alas!” cried Virginia, “I would have re- 
mained here my whole life, but my mother 
would not have it so. My confessor, too, told 
me it was the will of God that I should go, 
and that life was a scene of trials!—and oh, 
this is indeed a severe one.” 

“What! ” exclaimed Paul, “ you could find 
so many reasons for going, and not one for re- 
maining here? Ah! there is one reason for 
your departure that you have not mentioned. 
Riches have great attractions. You will soon 
find in the new world to which you are going 
another to whom you will give the name of 
brother, which you bestow on me no more. 
You will choose that brother from amongst 
persons who are worthy of you by birth, and 
by a fortune which I have not to offer. But 
where can you go to be happier? On what 
shore will you land, and find it dearer to you 
than the spot which gave you birth? and where 
will you form around you a society more de- 
hghtful to you than this, by which you are so 
much beloved? How will you bear to live 


without your mother’s caresses, to which you 
8 


114 Paul and Virginia. 


are so much accustomed? “What will become 
of her, already advanced in years, when she 
no longer sees you at her side at table, in the 
house, in the walks, where she used to lean 
upon yout What will become of my 
mother, who loves you with the same affec- 
tion? What shall I say to comfort them 
when I see them weeping for your absence? 
Cruel Virginia! I say nothing to you of my- 
self; but what will become of me when in the 
morning I shall no more see you, when the 
evening will come and not reunite us?—when 
I shall gaze on these two palm trees, planted 
at our birth and so long the witnesses of our 
mutual friendship? Ah! since your lot is 
changed, since you seek in a far country other 
possessions than the fruits of my labor, let me 
go with you in the vessel in which you are 
about to embark. JI will sustain your spirits 
in the midst of those tempests which terrify 
you so much even on shore. I will lay my 
head upon your bosom; I will warm your 
heart upon my own; and in France, where you 
are going in search of fortune and of grand- 
eur, I will wait upon you as your slave. 


Paul and Virginia. 115 


Happy only in your happiness, you will find 
me in those palaces where I shall see you re- 
ceiving the homage and adoration of all, rich 
and noble enough to make you the greatest 
of all sacrifices by dying at your feet.” 

The violence of his emotions stopped his 
utterance, and we then heard Virginia, who, 
in a voice broken by sobs, uttered these words: 

“Tt is for you that I go—for you whom I 
see tired to death every day by the labor of 
sustaining two helpless families. If I have 
accepted this opportunity of becoming rich, it 
is only to return a thousand-fold the good 
which you have done us. Can any fortune 
be equal to your friendship? Why do you 
talk about your birth? Ah! if it were possi- 
ble for me still to have a brother, should I 
make choice of any other than you? Oh, Paul, 
Paul! you are far dearer to me than a brother! 
How much has it cost me to repulse you from 
me! Help me to tear myself from what I 
value more than existence till Heaven shall 
bless our union. But I will stay or go—l 
will live or die—dispose of me as you will. 
Unhappy that Iam! I could have repelled 


116 Paul and Virginia. 


your caresses, but I cannot support your afflic- 
tion.” . 

At these words Paul seized her in his arms, 
and holding her pressed close to his bosom, 
cried, in a piercing tone: 

“T will go with her—nothing shall ever 
part us.” 

We all ran toward him; and Madame de la 
Tour said to him: 

“My son, if you go, what will become of 
us ?” 

He, trembling, repeated after her the words: 

“My son!—my son! You my mother!” 
cried he, “ you who would separate the brother 
from the sister! We have both been nour- 
ished at your bosom; we have both been 
reared upon your knees; we have learnt of you 
to love another; we have said so a thousand 
times; and now you would separate her from 
me!—you would send her to Europe, that in- 
hospitable country which refused you an asy- 
lum, and to relations by whom you yourself 
were abandoned. You will tell me that I 
have no right over her and that she is not my 
sister. She is everything to me—my riches, 


Paul and Virginia. 117 


my birth, my family—all that I have! I 
know no other. We have had but one roof, 
one cradle, and we will have but one grave! 
If she goes, I will follow her. The governor 
will prevent me? Will he prevent me from 
flinging myself into the sea? will he prevent 
me from following her by swimming? The 
sea cannot be more fatal to me than the land. 
Since I cannot live with her, at least I will 
die before her eyes, far from you. Inhuman 
mother! woman without compassion! may 
the ocean, to which you trust her, restore her 
to younomore! May the waves, rolling back 
our bodies amid the shingles of this beach, 
give you in the loss of your two children an 
eternal subject of remorse! ” 

At these words I seized him in my arms, 
for despair had deprived him of reason. His 
eyes sparkled with fire, the perspiration fell 
m great drops from his face; his knees trem- 
bled, and I felt his heart beat violently against 
his burning bosom. 

Virginia, alarmed, said to him: 

“Oh, my dear Paul, I call to witness the 
pleasures of our early age, your griefs, and 
my own, and everything that can forever bind 


118 Paul and Virginia. 


two unfortunate beings to each other, that if 
I remain at home I will live but for you—that 
if I go I will one day return to be yours. I 
eall you all to witness—you who have reared 
me from my infancy, who dispose of my life, 
and who see my tears. I swear by that 
Heaven which hears me, by the sea which I 
am going to pass, by the air I breathe, and 
which I never sullied by a falsehood.” 

As the sun softens and precipitates an icy 
' rock from the summit of one of the Apen- 
nines, so the impetuous passions of the young 
man were subdued by the voice of her he 
loved. He bent his head and a torrent of 
tears fell from his eyes. His mother, ming- 
ling her tears with his, held him in her arms, 
but was unable to speak. 

Madame de la Tour, half distracted, said to 
me: 

“T can bear this no longer. My heart is 
quite broken. This unfortunate voyage shall 
not take place. Do take my son home with 
you. Not one of us has had any rest the 
whole week.” 

I said to Paul: 


Paul and Virginia. “419 


“My dear friend, your sister shall remain 
here. To-.norrow we will talk to the governor 
about it; leave your family to take some rest, 
and come and pass the night with me. It is 
late, it is midnight; the Southern Cross is just 
above the horizon.” 

He suffered himself to be led away in si- 
lence, and after a night of great agitation he 
arose at break of day and returned home. 

But why should I continue any longer to 
you the recital of this history? There is but 
one aspect of human existence which we can 
ever contemplate with pleasure. Like the 
globe upon which we revolve, the fleeting 
course of life is but a day, and if one part of 
that day be visited by light, the other is 
thrown into darkness. 

“My father,” I answered, “finish, I con- 
jure you, the history which you have begun 
in a manner so interesting. If the images of 
happiness are the most pleasing, those of mis- 
fortune are the most instructive. Tell me 
what became of the unhappy young man.” 

The first object beheld by Paul in his way 


é 


120 Paul and Virginia. 


home was the negro woman Mary, who, 
mounted on a rock, was earnestly looking 
toward the sea. As soon as he perceived her, 
he called to her from a distance: 

“Where is Virginia ?” 

“Mary turned her head toward her young 
master, and began to weep. Paul distracted, 
retracing his steps, ran to the harbor. He was 
there informed that Virginia had embarked 
at the break of day, and that the vessel had 
immediately set sail, and was now out of sight. 
He instantly returned to the plantation, which 
he crossed without uttering a word. 

Quite perpendicular as appears the wall of 
rocks behind us, those green platforms which 
separate their summits are so many stages, by 
means of which you may reach, through some 
difficult paths, that cone of sloping and in- 
accessible rocks which is called The Thumb. 
At the foot of that cone is an extended slope 
of ground covered with lofty trees, and so 
steep and elevated that it looks like a forest _ 
in the air surrounded by tremendous pree- ° 
ipices. The clouds which are constantly at- 
tracted round the summit of The Thumb sup- 


Paul and Virginia. Ie os 54 


ply innumerable rivulets, which fall to. so 
great a depth in the valley situated on the 
other side of the mountain that from this ele- 
vated point the sound cf their cataracts can- 
not be heard. From that spot you can discern 
a considerable part of the island, diversified 
by  precipices and mountain-peaks, and 
amongst others Peter-Booth, and the Three 
Breasts with their valleys full of woods. You 
also command an extensive view of the ocean, 
and can even perceive the Isle of Bourbon, 
forty leagues to the westward. From the 
summit of that stupendous pile of rocks Paul 
caught sight of the vessel which was bearing 
away Virginia, and which now, ten leagues 
out at sea, appeared like a black spot in the 
midst of the ocean. He remained a great part 
of the day with his eyes fixed upon this ob- 
ject: when it had disappeared he still fancied 
he beheld it; and when at length the traces 
which clung to his imagination were lost in 
the mists of the horizon, he seated himself on 
that wild point, for ever beaten by the winds, 
which never cease to agitate the tops of the 
cabbage and gum trees, and the hoarse and 


; | 14 


as Paul and Virginia. 


moaning murmurs of which, similar to the dis- 
tant sound of organs, inspire a profound mel- 
ancholy. On this spot I found him, his head 
reclined on the rock and his eyes fixed upon 
the ground. I had followed him from the 
earliest dawn, and after much importunity I 
prevailed on him to descend from the heights 
and return to his family. 

I went home with him, where the first im- 
pulse of his mind on seeing Madame de la 
Tour was to reproach her bitterly for having 
deceived him. She told us that a favorable 
wind having sprung up at three o’clock in the 
morning, and the vessel being ready to sail, 
the governor, attended by some of his staff 
and the missionary, had come with a palan- 
quin to fetch her daughter; and that, notwith- 
standing Virginia’s objections, her own tears 
and entreaties, and the lamentations of Mar- 
garet, everybody exclaiming all the time that 
it was for the general welfare, they had car- 
ried her away almost dying. 

“At least,” cried Paul, “if I had bid her 
farewell, I should now be more calm. I would 
have said to her, ‘ Virginia, if during the time 


Paul and Virginia. 123 


we have lived together one word may have es- 
caped me which has offended you, before you 
leave me forever tell me that you forgive 
me.’ I would have said to her, ‘Since I am 
destined to see you no more, farewell, my 
dear Virginia, farewell! Live far from me, 
contented and happy !’” 

When he saw that his mother and Madame 
de la Tour were weeping: 

“You must now,” said he, “seek some 
other hand to wipe away your tears;”’ and 
then rushing out of the house and groaning 
aloud, he wandered up and down the planta- 
tion. 

He hovered in particular about those spots 
which had been most endeared to Virginia. 
He said to the goats and their little ones, 
which followed him, bleating: 

“What do you want of me?’ You will see 
with me no more her who used to feed you 
with her own hand.” 

He went to the bower called Virginia’s 
Resting-place, and as the birds flew around 
him, exclaimed: 

“Poor birds! you will fly no more to meet 


124 Paul and Virginia. 


her who cherished you! ”—and observing 
Fidele running backward and forward in 
search of her, he heaved a deep sigh, and 
eried, “Ah! you will never find her again.” 
At length he went and seated himself upon 
a rock where he had conversed with her the 
preceding evening, and at the sight of the 
ocean upon which he had seen the vessel dis- 
appear which had borne her away, his heart 
overflowed with anguish and he wept bitterly. 
We continually watched his movements, ap- 
prehensive of some fatal consequence from the 
violent agitation of his mind. His mother 
and Madame de la Tour conjured him in the 
most tender manner not to increase their afflic- 
tion by his despair. At length the latter 
soothed his mind by lavishing upon him epi- 
thets calculated to awaken his hopes, calling 
him her son, her dear son, her son-in-law, © 
whom she destined for her daughter. She 
persuaded him to return home and to take 
some food. He seated himself next to 
the place which used to be occupied 
by the companion of his childhood, and, as 
if she had still been present, he spoke to her 


Paul and Virginia. 125 


and made as though he would offer her what- 
ever he knew was most agreeable to her taste; 
then, starting from this dream of fancy, he be- 
gan to weep. For some days he employed 
himself in gathering together everything 
which had belonged to Virginia—the last 
nosegays she had worn, the cocoa-shell from 
which she used to drink—and after kissing a 
thousand times these relics of his beloved, to 
him the most precious treasures which the 
world contained, he hid them in his bosom. 
Amber does not shed so sweet a perfume as 
the veriest trifles touched by those we love. 
At length, perceiving that the indulgence of 
his grief increased that of his mother and 
Madame de la Tour, and that the wants of the 
family demanded continual labor, he began, 
with the assistance of Domingo, to repair the 
_ damage done to the garden. 

But soon after this-young man, hitherto in- 
different as a Creole to everything that was 
passing in the world, begged of me to teach 
him to read and write, in order that he might 
correspond with Virginia. He afterward 
wished to obtain a knowledge of geography, 


126 Paul and Virginia. 


that he might form some idea of the country 
where she would disembark; and of history, 
that he might know something of the manners 
of the society in which she would be placed. 
The powerful sentiment of love, which di- 
rected his present studies, had already in- 
structed him in agriculture and in the art of 
laying out grounds with advantage and 
beauty. It must be admitted that to the fond 
dreams of this restless and ardent passion man- 
kind are indebted for most of the arts and 
sciences, while its disappointments have given 
birth to philosophy, which teaches us to bear 
up under misfortune. Love, thus the gen- 
eral link of all beings, becomes the great 
spring of society by inciting us to knowledge 
as well as to pleasure. 

Paul found little satisfaction in the study of 
geography, which, instead of describing the 
natural history of each country, gave only a 
view of its political divisions and boundaries. 
History and especially modern history, inter- 
ested him little more. He there saw only 
general and periodical evils, the causes of 
which he could not discover; wars without 


Paul and Virginia. 127 


either motive or reason; uninteresting in- 
trigues; with nations destitute of principle 
and princes void of humanity. To this 
branch of reading he preferred romances, 
which, being chiefly occupied by the feelings 
and concerns of men, sometimes represented 
situations similar to his own. Thus, no book 
gave him so much pleasure as Telemachus, 
from the pictures it draws of pastoral life and 
of the passions which are most natural to the 
human breast. He read aloud to his mother 
and Madame de la Tour those parts which 
affected him most sensibly; but sometimes, 
touched by the most tender remembrances, 
his emotion would choke his utterance and 
his eyes be filled with tears. He fancied he 
had found in Virginia the dignity and wisdom 
of Antiope, united to the misfortunes and the 
tenderness of Kucharis. With very different 
sensations he perused our fashionable novels, 
filled with licentious morals and maxims, and 
when he was informed that these works drew 
a tolerably faithful picture of European so- 
ciety, he trembled, and not without some ap- 


128 Paul and Virginia. 


pearance of reason, lest Virginia should be- 
come corrupted by it and forget him. 

More than a year and a half, indeed, passed 
away before Madame de la Tour received any 
tidings of her aunt or her daughter. During 
that period she only accidentally heard that 
Virginia had safely arrived in France. At 
length, however, a vessel which stopped here 
in its way to the Indies brought a packet to 
Madame de la Tour and a letter written by 
Virginia’s own hand. Although this amiable 
and considerate girl had written in a guarded 
manner that she might not wound her moth- 
er’s feelings, it appeared evident enough that 
she was unhappy. The letter painted so nat- 
urally her situation and her character that I 
have retained it almost word for word. 

“My Dear anp BeLovep Mortuer: 

“J have already sent you several letters, 
written by my own hand, but, having received 
no answer, I am afraid they have not reached 
you. I have better hopes for this, from the 
means I have now gained of sending you tid- 
ings of myself and of hearing from you. 

“T have shed many tears since our separa- 


Paul and Virginia. 129 


tion—I who never used to weep but for the 
misfortunes of others! My aunt was much 
astonished when, having upon my arrival in- 
quired what accomplishments I possessed, I 
told her that I could neither read nor write. 
She asked me what, then, I had learnt since 
T came into the world; and when I answered 
that I had been taught to take care of the 
household affairs and to obey your will, she 
told me that I had received the education of 
a servant. The next day she placed me as a 
boarder in a great abbey near Paris, where I 
have masters of all kinds, who teach me, 
among other things, history, geography, oram- 
mar, mathematics, and riding on horseback. 
But I have so little capacity for all these 
sciences that I fear I shall make but small 
progress with my masters. I feel that I am 
a very poor creature, with very little ability 
to learn what they teach. My aunt’s kind- 
ness, however, does not decrease. She gives 
me new dresses every season, and she has 
placed two waiting-women with me, who are 


dressed like fine ladies. She has made me 
9 a 


130 Paul and Virginia. 


take the title of countess, but has obliged me 
to renounce the name of La Tour, which is 
as dear to me as it is to you, from all you have 
told me of the sufferings my father endured 
in order to marry you. She has given me in 
place of your name that of your family, which 
is also dear to me, because it was your name 
when a girl. Seeing myself in so splendid a 
situation, I implored her to let me send you 
something to assist you. but how shall I re- 
peat her answer? Yet you have desired me 
always to tell you the truth. She told me 
then that a little would be of no use to you, 
and that a great deal would only encumber 
you in the simple life you led. As you know 
I could not write, I endeavored upon my ar- 
rival to send you tidings of myself by another 
hand; but, finding no person here in whom I 
could place confidence; I applied night and 
day to learn to read and write, and Heaven, 
who saw my motive for learning, no doubt 
assisted my endeavors, for I succeeded in 
both in a short time. I entrusted my first 
letters to some of the ladies here, who, I have 
reason to think, carried them to my aunt. 


Paul and Virginia. 131 


This time I have recourse to a boarder, who is 
my friend. I send you her direction, by 
means of which I shall receive your answer. 
My aunt has forbid me holding any corres- 
poadence whatever with any one, lest, she 
says, 1t should occasion an obstacle to the 
great views she has for my advantage. No 
person is allowed to see me at the grate but 
herself and an old nobleman, one of her 
friends, who she says is much pleased with 
me. Iam sure I am not at all so with him, 
nor should I even if it were possible for me to 
be pleased with any one at present. 

“T live in all the splendor of affluence, and 
have not a sou at my disposal. They say I 
might make an improper use of money. Even 
my clothes belong to my femmes de chambre, 
who quarrel about them before I have left 
them off. In the midst of riches I am poorer 
than when I lived with you, for I have noth- 
ing to give away. When I found that the 
great accomplishments they taught me would 
not procure me the power of doing the small- 
est good, I had recourse to my needle, of 
which happily you had taught me the use. I 


132 Paul and Virginia. 


send several pairs of stockings of my own mak- 
ing for you and my mamma Margaret, a cap 


for Domingo, and one of my red handker- - 


chiefs for Mary. I also send with this packet 
some kernels and seeds of various kinds of 
fruits, which I gathered in the abbey park 
during my hours of recreation. I have also 
sent a few seeds of violets, daisies, buttercups, 
poppies and seabious which I picked up in the 
fields. There are much more beautiful flow- 
ers in. the meadows of this country than in 
ours, but nobody cares for them. I am sure 
that you and my mamma Margaret will be 


better pleased with this bag of seeds than you — 


were with a bag of piastres which was the 
cause of our separation and of my tears. It 
will give me great delight if you should one 
day see apple trees growing by the side of our 
plantains, and elms blending their foliage with 
that of our cocoa trees. You will faney your- 
self in Normandy, which you love so much. 

“ You desired me to relate to you my joys 
and my griefs. J have no joys far from you. 
As for my griefs, I endeavor to soothe them 
by reflecting that I am in the situation in 


Paul and Virginia. 133 


which it was the will of God that you should 
place me. But my greatest affliction is that 
no one here speaks to me of you, and that I 
cannot speak of you to any one. My femmes 
de chambre—or rather those of my aunt, for 
they belong more to her than to me—told me 
the other day, when I wished to turn the con- 
versation upon the objects most dear to me, 
“Remember, mademoiselle, that you are a 
French woman, and must forget that land of 
savages. Ah! sooner will I forget myself 
than forget the spot on which I was born and 
where you dwell. It is this country which 
is to me a land of savages, for I live alone, hav- 
ing no one to whom I can impart those feel- 
ings of tenderness for you which I shall bear 
with me to the grave. Jam 
“ My dearest and beloved mother, 
“Your affectionate and dutiful daughter, 
Vire@iniE DE La Tour. 

“T recommend to your goodness Mary and 
Domingo, who took so much care of my in- 
fancy, caress Fidele for me, who found me in 
the wood.” 

Paul was astonished that Virginia had not 


134 Paul and Virginia. 


said one word of him—she who had not for- 
gotten even the house-dog. But he was not 
aware that, however long a woman’s letter 
may be, she never fails to leave her dearest 
sentiments for the end. 3 

In a postscript Virginia particularly reeom- 
mended to Paul’s attention two kinds of seed 
—those of the violet and scabious. She 
gave him some instructions upon the natural 
characters of these flowers 2nd the spots most 
proper for their cultivation. “The violet,” 
she said, “ produces a little flower of a dark 
purple color, which delights to conceal itself 
beneath the bushes; but it is soon discovered 
by its wide-spreading perfume.” She desired 
that these seeds might be sown by the border 
of the fountain at the foot of her cocoa tree. 
“ The seabious,” she added, “ produces a beau- 
tiful flower of a pale blue and a black ground 
spotted with white. You might fancy it was 
in mourning; and for this reason it is also 
called the widow’s flower. It grows best in 
bleak spots beaten by the winds.” She 
begged him to sow this upon the rock where 
she had spoken to him at night for the last 


Paul and, Virginia. 135 


time, and that in remembrance of her he 
would henceforth give it the name of Rock of 
Adieus. | 

She had put these seeds into a little purse, 
the tissue of which was exceedingly simple, 
but which appeared above all price to Paul 
when he saw on it a P and a V entwined to- 
gether, and knew that the beautiful hair 
which formed the cypher was the hair of Vir- 
ginia. 

The whole family listened with tears to the 
reading of the letter of this amiable and vir- 
tuous girl. Her mother answered it in the 
name of the little society, desiring her to re- 
main or return as she thought proper, and as- 
suring her that happiness had left their dwell- 
ing since her departure, and that for herself 
she was inconsolable. 

Paul also sent her a very ‘long letter, in 
which he assured her that he would arrange 
the garden in a manner agreeable to her taste, 
and mingle together in it the plants of Eu- 
rope with those of Africa, as she had blended 
their initials together in her work. He sent 
her some fruit from the cocoa trees of the 


136 Paul and Virginia. 


fountain, now arrived at maturity, telling her 
that he would not add any of the other pro- 
ductions of the island, that the desire of see-. 
ing them again might hasten her return. He 
conjured her to comply as soon as possible 
with the ardent wishes of her family, and 
above all with his own, since he could never 
hereafter taste happiness away from her. 

Paul sowed with a careful hand the Euro- 
pean seeds, particularly the violet and the 
scabious, the flowers of which seemed to bear 
some analogy to the character and present 
situation of Virginia, by whom they had been 
so especially recommended; but either they 
were dried up in the voyage, or the climate 
of this part cf the world is unfavorable to 
their growth, for a very small number of them 
even came up, and not one arrived at full per- 
fection. 

In the meantime, envy, which ever comes 
to embitter human happiness, particularly in 
the French colonies, spread some reports in 
the island which gave Paul much uneasiness. 
The passengers in the vessel which brought 
Virginia’s letter asserted that she was upon 


Paul and Virginia. 137 


the point of being married, and named the* 
nobleman of the court to whom she was en- 
gaged. Some even went so far as to declare 
that the union had already taken place, and 
that they themselves had witnessed the cere- 
mony. Paul at first despised the report 
brought by a merchant vessel, as he knew that 
they often spread erroneous intelligence in 
their passage; but some of the inhabitants of 
the island, with malignant pity, affecting to be- 
wail the event, he was soon led to attach some 
degree of belief to this cruel intelligence. Be- 
sides, in some of the novels he had lately read 
he had seen that perfidy was treated as a sub- 
ject of pleasantry; and knowing that these 
books contained pretty faithful representa- 
tions of European manners, he feared that the 
heart of Virginia was corrupted and had for- 
gotten its former engagements. ‘Thus his 
new acquirements had already only served to 
render him more miserable; and his apprehen- 
sions were much increased by the circum- 
stance that, though several ships touched here 
from Europe within the six months imme- 
diately following the arrival of her letter, not 


138 Paul and Virginia. 


‘one of them brought any tidings of Virginia. — 

This unfortunate young man, with a heart 
torn by the most cruel agitation, often came 
to visit me, in the hope of confirming or ban- 
ishing his uneasiness by my experience of the 
world. 

I live, as I have already told you, a league 
and a half from this point, upon the banks of 
a little river which glides along the Sloping 
Mountain: there I lead a solitary life, without 
wife, children, or slaves. 

After having enjoyed and lost the rare fe- 
licity of living with a congenial mind, the 
state of life which appears the least wretched 
is doubtless that of solitude. Every man who 
Las much cause of complaint against his fel- 
low-creatures seeks to be alone. It is also re- 
markable that all those nations which have 
been brought to wretchedness by their opin- 
ions, their manners, or their forms of govern- 
ment have produced numerous classes of citi- 
zens devoted to solitude and celibacy. Such 
were the Egyptians in their decline and the 
Greeks of the Lower Empire; and such in our 
days are the Indians, the Chinese, the mod- 


Paul and Virginia. 139 


ern Greeks, the Italians, and the greater 
part of the eastern and southern nations of 
Europe. Solitude, by removing men from the 
miseries which follow in the train of social in- 
tercourse, brings them in some degree back to 
the unsophisticated enjoyment of Nature. In 
the midst of modern society, broken up by in- 
numerable prejudices, the mind is in a con- 
stant turmoil of agitation. It is incessantly 
revolving in itself a thousand tumultuous and 
’ contradictory opinions, by which members of 
an ambitious and miserable circle seek to raise 
themselves above each other. But in solitude 
the soul lays aside the morbid illusions which 
troubled her, and resumes the pure conscious- 
ness of herself, of Nature and of its Author, 
as the muddy water of a torrent which has 
ravaged the plains, coming to rest and diffus- 
ing itself over some low grounds out of its 
course, deposits there the slime it has taken 
up, and, resuming its wonted transparency, 
reflects with its own shores the verdure of the 
earth and the light of heaven. Thus does 
solitude recruit the powers of the body as well 
as those of the mind. It is among hermits 


140 Paul and Virginia. 


that are found the men who carry human ex- 
istence to its extreme limits; such are the 
Brahmans of India. In brief, I consider 
solitude so necessary to happiness, even in the 
world itself, that it appears to me impossible 
to derive lasting pleasure from any pursuit 
whatever, or to regulate our conduct by any 
stable principle, if we do not create for our: 
selves a mental void whence our own views 
rarely emerge and into which the opinions of 
others never enter. I do not mean to say that - 
man ought to live absolutely alone; he is con- 
nected by his necessities with all mankind; his 
labors are due to man; and he owes something 
too to the rest of Nature. But, as God has 
given to each of us organs perfectly adapted 
to the elements of the globe on which we live 
—feet for the soil, lungs for the air, eyes for 
the light, without the power of changing the 
use of any of these faculties—He has reserved 
for Himself, as the Author of life, that which 
is its chief organ, the heart. 

I thus passed my days far from mankind, 
whom I wished to serve and by whom I have 
been persecuted. After having traveled over 
many countries of Europe and some parts of 


Paul and Virginia. 141 


America and Africa, I at length pitched my 
tent in this thinly-peopled island, allured by 
its mild climate and its solitudes. A cottage 
which I built in the woods at the foot of a 
tree, a little field which I cleared with my 
own hands, a river which glides before my 
door, suffice for my wants and for my pleas- 
ures. I blend with these enjoyments the 
perusal of some chosen books which teach me 
to become better. They make that world 
which I have abandoned still contribute some- 
thing to my happiness. They lay before me 
pictures of those passions which render its in: 
habitants so miserable; and in the comparison 
I am thus led to make between their lot and 
my own I feel a kind of negative enjoyment. 
Like a man saved from shipwreck and thrown 
upon a rock, I contemplate from my solitude 
the storms which rage through the rest of the 
- world, and my repose seems more profound 
from the distant sound of the tempest. As 
men have ceased to fall in my way, I ne 
longer view them with aversion; I only pity 
them. If I sometimes fall in with an unfor- 
tunate being, I try to help him by my coun- 


142 Paul and Virginia. 


sels, as a passer-by on the brink of a torrent 
extends his hand to save a wretch from drown- 
ing. But I have hardly ever found any but 
the innocent attentive to my voice. Nature 
calls the majority of men to her in vain. Each 
of them forms an image of her for himself, 
and invests her with his own passions. He 
pursues during the whole of his life this vain 
phantom, which leads him astray; and he af- 
terward complains to Heaven of the misfor- 
tunes which he has thus created for himself. 
Among the many children of misfortune 
whom I have endeavored to lead back to the 
enjoyments of nature I have not found one 
but was intoxicated with his own miseries. 
They have listened to me at, first with atten- 
tion, in the hope that I could teach them how 
to aequire glory or fortune; but when they 
found that I only wished to instruct them 
how to dispense with these chimeras, their at- 
tention has been converted into pity because 
I did not prize their miserable happiness. 
They blamed my solitary life; they alleged 
that they alone were useful to men, and they 
endeavored to draw me into their vortex. But 


Paul and Virginia. 143 


if I communicate with all, I lay myself open 
tonone. It is often sufficient for me to serve 
as a lesson to myself. In my present tran- 
quility I pass in review the agitating pursuits 
of my past life, to which I formerly attached 
so much value—patronage, fortune, reputa- 
tion, pleasure, and the opinions which are ever 
at strife over all the earth. I compare the 
men whom I have seen disputing furiously 
over these vanities, and who are no more, to 
the tiny waves of my rivulet, which break in 
foam against its rocky bed, and disappear 
never to return. As for me, I suffer myself 
to float calmly down the stream of time to 
the shoreiess ocean of futurity, while in the 
contemplation of the present harmony of Na- 
ture I elevate my soul toward its supreme 
Author, and hope for a more happy lot in 
another state of existence. — 

Although you cannot descry from my her- 
mitage, situated in the midst of a forest, that 
immense variety of objects which this ele 
vated spot presents, the grounds are disposed 
with peculiar beauty, at least to one who like 
me prefers the seclusion of a home-scene to 


144 Paul and Virginia. 


great and extensive prospects. The river 
which glides before my door passes in a 
straight line across the woods, looking like a 
long canal shaded by all kinds of trees. 
Among them are the gum tree, the ebony 
tree, and that which is here ealled bois de 
pomme, with olive and cinnamon-wood trees; 
while in some parts the cabbage-palm trees 
raise their naked stems more than a hundred 
feet high, their summits crowned with a clus- 
ter of leaves, and towering above the woods 
like one forest piled upon another. Lianas 
of various foliage, intertwining themselves 
among the trees, form here arcades of foliage 
—there, long canopies of verdure. Most of 
these trees shed aromatic odors so powerful 
that the garments of a traveler who has passed 
through the forest often retain for hours the 
most delicious fragrance. In the season when 
they produce their lavish blossoms they ap- 
pear as if half covered with snow. Toward 
the end of summer various kinds of foreign 
birds hasten, impelled by some inexplicable 
instinct, from unknown regions on the other 
side of immense oceans, to feed upon the 


Paul and Virginia. 145 


xrain and other vegetable productions of the 
island; and the brilliancy of their plumage 
forms a striking contrast to the more sombre 
tints of the foliage embrowned by the sun. 
Among these are various kinds of paroquets 
and the blue pigeon, called here the pigeon of 
Holland. Monkeys, the domestic inhabitants 
of our forests, sport upon the dark branches 
of the trees, from which they are easily dis- 
tinguished by theiragray and greenish skin 
and their black visages. Some hang: sus- 
pended by the tail, and swing themselves in 
air; others leap from branch to branch, bear- 
ing their young in their arms. The murder- 
ous gun has never affrighted these peaceful 
children of Nature. You hear nothing but 
sounds of joy—the warblings and unknown 
notes of birds from the countries of the south, 
repeated from a distance by the echoes of the 
forest. The river, which pours in foaming 
eddies over a bed of rocks through the midst 
of the woods, reflects here and there upon its 
limpid waters their venerable masses of ver- 


dure and of shade, along with the sports of 
10 


146 Paul and Virginia. 


their happy inhabitants. About a thousand 
paces from hence it forms several cascades, 
clear as crystal in their fall, but broken at the 
bottom into frothy surges. Innumerable con- 
fused sounds issue from these watery tumults,. 
which, borne by the winds across the forest, 
now sink in distance, now all at once swell 
out, booming on the ear like the bells of a 
cathedral. ‘The air, kept ever in motion by 
the running water, preserves upon the banks 
of the river, amid all the summer heats, a 
freshness and verdure rarely found in this 
island even on the summits of the mountains. 

At some distanee from this place is a rock, 
placed far enough from the cascade to pre- 
vent the ear from being deafened with the 
noise of its waters, and sufficiently near for 
the enjoyment of sceing it, of feeling its cool- 
ness and hearing its gentle murmurs. Thither, 
amidst the heats of summer, Madame de la 
Tour, Margaret, Virginia, Paul, and myself 
sometimes repaired, to dine beneath the 
shadow of this rock. Virginia, who always in 
her most ordinary actions was mindful of the 
good of others, never ate of any fruit in the 


Paul and Virginia. 147 


fields without planting the seed or kernel in 
the ground. “From this,” said-she, “ trees 
will come, which will yield their fruit to some 
traveler or at least to some bird.” One day, 
having eaten of the papaw fruit at the foot of 
that rock, she planted the seeds on the spot. 
Soon after several papaw trees sprang up, 
among which was one with female blossoms; 
that is to say, a fruit-bearing tree. This tree 
at the time of Virginia’s departure was 
scarcely as high as her knee; but as it is a 
plant of rapid growth, in the course of two 
years it had gained the height of twenty feet, 
and the upper part of its stem was encircled 
by several rows of ripe fruit. Paul, wander- 
ing accidentally to the spot, was struck with 
delight at seeing this lofty tree which had 
been planted by his beloved; but the emotion 
was transient, and instantly gave place to a 
deep melancholy at this evidence of her long 
absence. The objects which are habitually 
before us do not bring to our minds an ade- 
quate idea of the rapidity of life; they decline 
insensibly with ourselves; but it is those we 
behold again, after having for some years lost 


148 Paul and Virginia. 


sight of them, that most powerfully impress 
us with a feeling of the swiftness with which 
the tide of life flows on. Paul was no less 
overwhelmed and affected at the sight of this 
great papaw tree loaded with fruit than is the 
traveler when after a long absence from his 
own country, he finds his contemporaries no 
more, but their children, whom he left at the 
breast, themselves now become fathers of fam- 
ilies. Paul sometimes thought of cutting 
down the tree which recalled too sensibly the 
distracting remembrance of Virginia’s pro- 
longed absence. At other times, contempla- 
ting it as a monument of her benevolence, he 
kissed its trunk and apostrophized it in terms 
of the most passionate regret. Indeed, I have 
myself gazed upon it with more emotion and 
more veneration than upon the triumphal 
arches of Rome. May Nature, which every 
day destroys the monuments of kingly ambi- 
tion, multiply in our forests those which 
testify the beneficence of a poor young girl! 
At the foot of this papaw tree I was al- 
ways sure to meet with Paul when he came 
into our neighborhood. One day I found him 


Paul and Virginia. 149 


there absorbed in melancholy, and a conversa- 
tion took place between us which I will re- 
late to you, if I do not weary you too much by 
my long digressions; they are perhaps pardon- 
able to my age and to my last friendships. I 
will relate it to you in the form of a dialogue, 
that you may form some idea of the natural 
good sense of this young man. You will 
easily distinguish the speakers, from the char- 
acter of his questions and of my answers. 

Pavt.—I am very unhappy. Mademoiselle 
de la Tour has now been gone two years and 
eight months, and we have heard no tidings of 
her for eight months and a half. She is rich 
and I am poor; she has forgotten me. I have 
a great mind to follow her. I will go to 
France; I will serve the king; I will make my 
fortune; and then Mademoiselle de la Tour’s 
aunt will bestow her niece upon me when I 
shall have become a great lord. 

Tue Orp Man.—But, my dear friend, have 
not you told me that you are not of noble 
birth? 

Pavt.—My mother has told me so; but as 
for myself I know not what noble birth 





150 Paul and Virginia. 


means. I never perceived that I had less 
than others, or that others had more than I. 

Tur Orp Man.—Obscure birth in France 
shuts every door of access to great employ- 
ments; nor can you even be received among 
any distinguished body of. men if you labor 
under this advantage. 

Pavri.—You have often told me that it was 
one source of the greatness of France that her 
humblest subject might attain the highest 
honors; and you have cited to me many in- 
stances of celebrated men who, born in a 
mean condition, had conferred honor upon 
their country. It was your wish, then, by 
concealing the truth to stimulate my ardor? 

Tur Orp Man.—Never, my son, would I 
lower it. I told you the truth with regard to 
the past; but now everything has undergone a 
ereat change. Everything in France is now 
to be obtained by interest alone; every place 
and employment is now become as it were the 
patrimony of a small number of families or is 
divided among public bodies. The king is a 
sun, and the nobles and great corporate bodies 
surround him like so many clouds; it is 





Paul and Virginia. 151 


almost impossible for any of his rays to reach 
you. Formerly, under less exclusive admin- 
istrations, such phenomena have been seen. 
Then talents and merit showed themselves 
everywhere, as newly-cleaned lands are al- 
ways loaded with abundance. But great 
kings, who can really form a just estimate of 
men and choose them with judgment, are 
rare. The ordinary race of monarchs allow 
themselves to be guided by the nobles and peo- 
ple who surround them. 

Pavi.—But perhaps I shall find one of 
these nobles to protect me. 

Tue Orp Man.—To gain the protection of 
the great you must lend yourself to their am- 
bition and administer to their pleasures. You 
would never succeed; for, in addition to your 
obscure birth, you have too much integrity. 

Pavuyt.—But I will perform such courag- 
-eous actions, I will be so faithful to my word, 
so exact in the performance of my duties, so 
zealous and so constant in my friendships, that 
I will render myself worthy to be adopted by 
some one of them. In the ancient histories, 





152 Paul and Virginia. 


you have made me read I have seen many ex- 
amples of such adoptions. 

Tur Orp Mayn.—Oh, my young friend, 
among the Greeks and Romans, even in their 
decline, the nobles had some respect for vir- 
tue; but out of all the immense number of 
men sprung from the mass of the people in 


France who have. signalized themselves in © 


every possible manner, I do not recollect a 
single instance of one being adopted by any 
great family. If it were not for our kings, 
virtue in our country would be eternally eon- 
demned as plebeian. As I said before, the 
monarch sometimes, when he perceives it, ren- 
ders to it due honor; but in the present day 
the distinctions which should be bestowed on 
merit are generally to be obtained by money 
alone. 

Pavt.—If I cannot find a nobleman to 
adopt me, I will seek to please some public 


é 


body. J will espouse its interests and its opin- — 


ions: I will make myself beloved by it. 

Tue Orp Man.—You will act then like 
other men?—you will renounce your con- 
science to obtain a fortune? 





Paul and Virginia. 153 


Pavt.—Oh no! I will never lend myself 
to anything but the truth. 

Tue Otp Man.—Instead of making your- 
self beloved, you would become an object of 
dislike. Besides, public bodies have never 
taken much interest in the discovery of truth. 
All opinions are nearly alike to ambitious 
men, provided only that they themselves can 
gain their ends. 

Pavyi.—How unfortunate Iam! LEvery- 
thing bars my progress. JI am condemned to 
pass my life in ignoble toil far from Vir- 
ginia. 

As he said this he sighed deeply. 

Tue Oxtp Man.—Let God be your patron 
and mankind the public body you would 
serve. Be constantly attached to them both. 
Families, corporations, nations, and kings 
have, all of them, their prejudices and their 
passions: it is often necessary to serve them 
by the practice of vice: God and mankind at 
large require only the exercise of the virtues. 

But why do you wish to be distinguished 
from other men? It is hardly a natural sen- 
timent, for if all men possessed it every one 


154 » Paul and Virginia. 


would be at constant strife with his neighbor. 
Be satisfied with fulfilling your duty in the 
station in which Providence has placed you; 
be grateful for your lot, which permits you 
to enjoy the blessing of a quiet conscience, 
and which does not compel you, like the great, 
.to let your happiness rest on the opinion of the 
little, or, like the little, to cringe to the great, 
in order to obtain the means of existence. You 
are now placed in a country and a condition in 
which you are not reduced to deceive or flatter 
any one or debase yourself, as the greater part 
of those who seek their fortune in Europe are’ 
obliged to do; in which the exercise of no vir- 
tue is forbidden you; in which you may be, 
with impunity, good, sincere, well-informed, | 
patient, temperate, chaste, indulgent to oth- 
ers’ faults, pious, and no shaft of ridicule be 
aimed at you to destroy your wisdom, as yet 
only in its bud. Heaven has given you liberty, 
health, a good conscience, and friends; kings 
themselves, whose favor you desire, are not 
so happy. 

Pavi.—Ah! I only want to have Virginia 
with me: without her I have nothing—with 


Paul and Virginia. 155 


her I should possess all my desire. She alone 
is to me birth, glory, and fortune. But since 
‘yer relation will only give her to some one 
with a great name, I will study. By the aid 
of study and of books learning and celebrity 
are to be attained. I will become a man of 
science; [ will render my knowledge useful to 
the service of my country, without injuring 
any one or owning dependence on any one. 
I will become celebrated, and my glory shall 
be achieved only by myself. 

Tur Otp Man.—My son, talents are a gift 
yet. more rare than either birth or riches, and 
undoubtedly they are a greater good than 
either, since they can never be taken away 
from us, and that they obtain for us every- 
where public esteem. But they may be said 
to be worth all that they cost us. They are 
seldom acquired but by every:species of priva- 
tion, by the possession of exquisite sensibility, 
which often produces inward unhappiness, 
and which exposes us without to the malice 
and persecutions of our contemporaries. The 
lawyer envies not in France the glory of the 

soldier, nor does the soldier envy that of the 


156 Paul and Virginia. 


naval officer; but they will all oppose you and 
bar your progress to distinction, because your 
assumption of superior ability will wound the 
self-love of them all. You say that you will 
do good to men; but recollect that he who 
makes the earth produce a single ear of corn 
more renders them a greater service than he 
who writes a book. 

Pavit.—Oh! she, then, who planted this 
papaw tree has made a more useful and more 
grateful present to the inhabitants of these 
forests than if she had given them a whole 
library. | 

So saying he threw his arms round the tree 
and kissed it with transport. 

Tur Otp Man.—The best of books—that 
which preaches nothing but equality, broth- 
erly love, charity, and peace—the gospel, has 
served as a pretext during many centuries for 
Europeans to let loose all their fury. How 
many tyrannies, both public and private, are 
still practised in its name on the face of the 
earth! After this who will dare to flatter 
himself that anything he can write will be 
of service to his fellow-men? Remember the 





Paul and Virginia. 157 


fate of most of the philosophers who have 
preached to them wisdom. Homer, who 
clothed it in such noble verse, asked for alms 
all his life. Socrates, whose conversation and 
example gave such admirable lessons to the 
Athenians, was sentenced by them to be pois- 
oned. His sublime disciple, Plato, was de- 
_livered over to slavery by the order of the 
very prince who protected him; and before 
them Pythagoras, whose humanity extended 
even to animals, was burned alive by the Cro- 
toniates. What do I say? Many even of 
these illustrious names have descended to us 
disfigured by some traits of satire by which 
they became characterized, human ingrati- 
tude taking pleasure in thus recognizing 
them; and if in the crowd the glory of some 
names is come down to us without spot or 
blemish, we shall find that they who have 
borne them have lived far from the society of 
their contemporaries, like those statues which 
are found entire beneath the soil in Greece 
and Italy, and which by being hidden in the 
bosom of the earth have escaped uninjured 
from the fury of the barbarians. 


158 Paul and Virginia. 


You see, then, that to acquire the glory 
which a turbulent literary career can give you, 
you must not only be virtuous, but ready, if 
necessary, to sacrifice life itself. But, after 
all, do not fancy that the great in France 
trouble themselves about such glory as this. 
Little do they care for literary men, whose 
knowledge brings them neither honors nor 
power, nor even admission at court. Perse- 
cution, is is true, is rarely practised in this age, 
because it is habitually indifferent to every- 
thing except wealth and luxury; but knowl- 
edge and virtue no longer lead to distinction, 
since everything in the state is to be purchased 
with money. Formerly, men of letters were 
certain of reward by some place in the 
Church, the magistracy, or the administra- 
tion; now they are considered good for noth- 
ing but to write books. But this fruit of their 
minds, little valued by the world at large, is 
still worthy of its celestial origin. For these 
books is reserved the privilege of shedding 
lustre on obscure virtue, of consoling the un- 
happy, of enlightening nations, and of telling 
the truth even to kings. This is unquestion- 


Paul and Virginia. 159 


ably the most august commission with which — 
Heaven can honor a mortal upon this earth. 
Where is the author who would not be con- 
soled for the injustice or contempt of those 
who are the dispensers of the ordinary gifts of 
fortune when he reflects that his work may 
pass from age to age, from nation to nation, 
opposing a barrier to error and to tyranny, 
and that from amidst the obscurity in which 
he has lived there will shine forth a glory 
which will efface that of the common herd of 
monarchs, the monuments of whose deeds per- 
ish in oblivion, notwithstanding the flatterers 
who erect and magnify them? 

Pavi.—Ah! I am only covetous of glory to 
bestow it on Virginia and render her dear to 
the whole world. But can you, who know so 
much, tell me whether we shall ever be mar- 
ried? I should like to be a very learned man, 
if only for the sake of knowing what will 
come to pass. 

Tur Otp Man.—Who would live, my son, 
if the future were revealed to him,—when a 
single anticipated misfortune gives us so much 
useless uneasiness—when | the foreknowledge 


160 Paul and Virginia. 


of one certain calamity is enough to embitter 
every day that precedes it? 

It is better not to pry too curiously even 
into the things which surround us. Heaven, 
which has given us the power of reflection te 
foresee our necessities, gave us also those very 
necessities to set limits to its exercise. 

Pavui.—You tell me that with money peo- 
ple in Europe acquire dignities and honors. I 
will go, then, to enrich myself in Bengal, and 
afterward proceed to Paris and marry Vir- 
ginia. I will embark at once. 

Tue Orp Man.—What! would you leave 
her mcther and yours? 

Paut.—Why, you yourself have advised 
my going to the Indies. 

Tue Otp Man.—Virginia was then here; 
but you are now the only means of support 
both of her mother and of your own. 

Pavi.— Virginia will assist them by means 
of her rich relation. 

Tue Otp May.—The rich care little for 
those from whom no honor is reflected upon 
themselves in the world. Many of them have 
relations much more to be pitied than Mad- 


Paul and: Virginia. 161 


ame de la Tour, who for want of their assist- 
ance sacrifice their liberty for bread and pass 
their lives immured within the walls of a con- 
vent. 

Pavt.—Oh, what a country is Europe! 
Virginia must come back here. What need 
has she of a rich relation? She was so happy 
in these huts; she looked so beautiful and so 
well dressed with a red handkerchief or a few 
flowers around her head!—Return, Virginia! 
leave your sumptuous mansions and your 
grandeur, and come back to these rocks,—to 
the shade of these woods and of our cocoa 
trees. Alas! you are perhaps even now un- 
happy; and he began to shed tears.—My 
father, continued he, hide nothing from me; 
if you cannot tell me whether I shall marry 
Virginia, tell me at least if she loves me still, 
surrounded as she is by noblemen who speak 
to the king and who go to see her. 

_ Tur Orp Man.—Oh, my dear friend, I am 
sure for many reasons, that she loves you, but, 
above all, because she is virtuous. At these 
words he threw himself on my neck in a trans- 
port of joy. 

rt 





162 Paul and Virginia. 


Pavi.—But do you think that the women 
of Europe are false, as they are represented in 
the comedies and books which you have lent 
me? 

Tur Orp Man.—Women are false in those 
countries where men are tyrants. Violence 
always engenders a disposition to deceive. 

Pavut.—In what way can men tyrannize 
over women? 

Tue Orp Mayn.—In giving them in mar- 
riage without consulting their inclinations— 
in uniting a young girl to an old man, or a 
woman of sensibility to a frigid and indiffer- 
ent husband. 

Paut.—Why not join together those who 
are suited to each other—the young to the 
young, and lovers to those they love? 

Tur Oxtp Man.—Because few young men 
in France have property enough to support 
them when they are married, and cannot ac- 
quire it till the greater part of their life is 
passed. While young they seduce the wives 
of others, and when they are old they cannot 
secure the affections of their own. At first 
they themselves are deceivers, and afterward 


Paul and Virginia. 163 


they are deceived in their turn. This is one 
of the reactions of that eternal justice by 
which the world is governed; an excess on one 
side to be balanced by one on the other. Thus 
the greater part of Europeans pass their lives 
in this twofold irregularity, which increases 
everywhere in the same proportion that 
wealth is accumulated in the hands of a few 
individuals. Society is like a garden, where 
shrubs cannot grow if they are overshadowed 
by lofty trees; but there is this wide differ- 
ence between them—that the beauty of a gar- 
den may result from the admixture of a small 
number of forest trees, while the prosperity 
of a state depends on the multitude and equal- 
ity of its citizens, and not on a small number 
of very rich men. 

Pavr.—But where is the ace of being 
rich in order to marry ? 

Tue Otp Man.—In order to pass through 
life in abundance; without being obliged to 
work. 

Pavu.—But why not work? Iam sure I 
work hard enough. 

Tue Orv Man.—In Europe working with 


164 | Paul and Virginia. 


your hands is considered a degradation; it is 
compared to the labor performed by a ma- 
chine. The occupation of cultivating the 
earth is the most despised of all. Even an 
artisan is held in more estimation than a peas- 
ant. 

Pavi.—What! do you mean to say that the 
art which furnishes food for mankind is de- 
spised in Europe? I hardly understand you. 

Tue Orp Mayn.—Oh, it is impossible for a 
person educated according to nature to form 
an idea of the depraved state of society. It 
is easy to form a precise notion of order, but 
not of disorder. Beauty, virtue, happiness, 
have all their defined proportions; deformity, 
vice, and misery have none. 

Pavt.—The rich then are always very 
happy? They meet with no obstacles to the 
fulfilment of their wishes, and they ean lavy- 
ish happiness on those whom they love. 

Tue Otp May.—Far from it, my son. They 
are for the most part satiated with pleasure, 
for this very reason—that it costs them no 
trouble. Have you never yourself experi- 
ienced how much the pleasure of repose is in- 


Paul and Virginia. 165 


creased by fatigue—that of eating by hunger, 
or that of drinking by thirst? The pleasure 
also of loving and being beloved is only to be 
acquired by innumerable privations and sac- 
rifices. Wealth, by anticipating all their 
hecessicies, deprives its possessors of all these 
pleasures. To this ennui, consequent upon 
satiety, may also be added the pride which 
springs from their opulence, and which is 
wounded by the most trifling privation when 
the greatest enjoyments have ceased to charm. 
The perfume of a thousand roses gives pleas- 
ure but for a moment, but the pain occasioned 
by a single thorn endures long after the in- 
fiction of the wound. A single evil in the 
midst of their pleasures is to the rich like a 
thorn among flowers; to the poor, on the con- 
trary, one pleasure amidst all their troubles 
is a flower among a wilderness of thorns; they 
have a most lively enjoyment of it. The 
effect of everything is increased by contrast; 
Nature has balanced all things. Which con- 
dition, after all, do you consider preferable— 
to have scarcely anything to hope and every- 
thing to fear, or to have everything to hope 


166 Paul and Virginia. 


and nothing to fear? The former condition 
is that of the rich—the latter that of the poor. 
But either of these extremes is with difficulty 
supported by man, whose happiness consists in 
a middle station of life, in union with virtue. 

Pavr.—What do you understand by vir- 
tue? 

Tur Orp Man.—To you, my son, who sup- 
port your family by your labor, it need hardly 
be defined. Virtue consists in endeavoring to 
do all the good we can to others, with an ulti- 
mate intention of pleasing God alone. 

Pavt.—Oh, how virtuous, then, is Vir- 
ginia! Virtue led her to seek for riches, that 
she might practise benevolence. Virtue in- 
duced her to quit this island, and virtue will 
bring her back to it. 

The idea of her speedy return firing the 
imagination of this young man, all his anxie- 
ties suddenly vanished. Virginia, he was per- 
suaded, had not written, because she would 
soon arrive. It took so little time to come 
from Europe with a fair wind! Then he 
enumerated the vessels which had made this 
passage of four thousand five hundred 


Paul and Virginia. 167 


leagues in less than three months; and per- 
haps the vessel in which Virginia had em- 
barked might not be more than two. Ship- 
builders were now so ingenious, and sailors 
were so expert. He then talked to me of the 
arrangements he intended to make for her re- 
ception, of the new house he would build for 
her, and of the pleasures and surprises which 
he would contrive for her every day when she 
was his wife. His wife! The idea filled him 
with ecstasy. 

“At least, my dear father,” said he, “you 
shall then do no more work than you please. 
As Virginia will be rich, we shall have plenty 
of negroes, and they shall work for you. You 
shall always live with us, and have no other 
care than to amuse yourself and be happy; ” 
and, his heart throbbing with joy, he flew to 
communicate these exquisite anticipations to 
his family. 

In a short time, however, these enchanting 
hopes were succeeded by the most cruel appre- 
hensions. It is always the effect of violent 
passions to throw the soul into opposite ex- 
tremes. Paul returned the next day to my 


) 


168 Paul and Virginia. 


dwelling, overwhelmed with melancholy, and 
said to me: 

“T hear nothing from Virginia. Had she 
left Europe she would have written me word 
of her departure. Ah! the reports which I 
have heard concerning her are but too well 
founded. Her aunt has married her to some 
great lord. She, like others, has been undone 
by the love of riches. In those books which 
paint women so well, virtue is treated but as 
a subject of romance. If Virginia had been 
virtuous, she would never have forsaken her 
mother and me. I do nothing but think of 
her, and she has forgotten me. I am wretched, 
and she is diverting herself. The thought 
distracts me; I cannot bear myself. Would 
to Heaven that war were declared in India! I 
would go there and die.” 

“My son,” I answered, “that courage 
which prompts us on to court death is but the 
courage of a moment, and is often excited 
only by the vain applause of men or by the 
hopes of posthumous renown. ‘There is an- 
other description of courage, rarer and move 
necessary, which enables us to support, with- 


Paul and Virginia. 169 


out witness and without applause, the vexa- 
tions of life; this virtue is patience. Relying 
for support, not-upon the opinions of others 
or the impulse of the passions, but upon the 
will of God, patience is the courage of vir- 
tue,” 

“Ah!” cried he, “I am then without vir- 
tue! Everything overwhelms me and drives 
me to despair.” 

“Equal, constant, and invariable virtue,” 
I replied, “ belongs not to man. In the midst 
of the many passions which agitate us our rea- 
son is disordered and obscured: but there is an 
ever-burning lamp at which we can rekindle 
its flame; and that is literature. 

“Literature, my dear son, is the gift of 
Heaven, a ray of that wisdom by which the 
universe is governed, and which man, inspired 
by a celestial intelligence, has drawn down to 
earth; like the rays of the sun, it enlightens 
us, it rejoices us, it warms us with a heavenly 
flame, and seems in some sort, like the ele- 
ment of fire, to bend all nature to our use. 
By its means we are enabled to bring around 
us all things, all places, all men, and all times. 


170 Paul and Virginia. 


It assists us to regulate our manners and our 
life. By its aid, too, our passions are calmed, 
vice is suppressed, and virtue encouraged by 
the memorable examples of great and good 
men which it has handed down to us, and 
whose time-honored images it ever brings be- 
fore our eyes. Literature is a daughter of 
Heaven who has descended upon earth to 
soften and to charm away all the evils of the 
human race. The greatest writers have ever 
appeared in the worst times, in times in which 
society can hardly be held together—the 
times of barbarism and every species of de- 
pravity. My son, literature has consoled an 
infinite number of men more unhappy than 
yourself: Xenophon, banished from his coun- 
try after having saved to her ten thousand of 
her sons; Scipio Africanus, wearied to death 
by the calumnies of the Romans; Lucullus, 
tormented by their cabals; and Catinat, by the 
ingratitude of a court. The Greeks, with 
their never-failing ingenuity, assigned to each 
of the Muses a portion of the great circle of 
human intelligence for her especial superin- 
tendence; we ought in the same manner to 


Paul and Virginia. Het 


give up to them the regulation of our passions, 
to bring them under proper restraint. Liter- 
ature in this imaginative guise would thus ful- 
fil, in relation to the powers of the soul, the 
same functions as the Hours, who yoked and 
conducted the chariot of the Sun. 

“Have recourse to your books, then, my 
son. The wise men who have written before 
our days are travelers who have preceded us 
in the paths of misfortune, and who stretch 
out a friendly hand toward us, and invite us 
to join their society when we are abandoned 
_by everything else. A good book is a good 
friend.” 

“Ah!” eried Paul, “I stood in no need of 
books when Virginia was here, and she had 
studied as little as myself; but when she 
looked at me and called me her friend I could 
not feel unhappy.” 

“Undoubtedly,” said I, “ chines is no friend 
so agreeable as a mistress by whom we are be- 
loved. ‘There is, moreover, in woman a live- 
liness and gayety which powerfully tend to 
dissipate the melancholy feelings of a man; 
her presence drives away the dark phantoms 


172 Paul and Virginia. 


of imagination produced by over-reflection. 
Upon. her countenance sit soft attraction and 
tender confidence. What joy is not height- 
ened when it is shared by her? What brow 
is not unbent by her smiles? What anger 
can resist her tears? Virginia will return 
with more philosophy than you, and will be 
quite surprised to find the garden so unfin- 
ished—she who could think of its embellish- 
ments in spite of all the persecutions of her 
aunt, and when far from her mother and from 
you.” , 

The idea of Virginia’s speedy return reani- 
mated the drooping spirits of her lover, and 
he resumed his rural occupations, happy 
amidst his toils in the reflection that they 
would soon find a termination so dear to the 
wishes of his heart. 

One morning, at break of day (it was the 
24th of December, 1744) Paul when he arose 
perceived a white flag hoisted upon the Moun- 
tain of Discovery. ‘This flag he knew to be 
the signal of a vessel descried at Sea. He in- 
stantly flew to the town to learn if this vessel 
brought any tidings of Virginia, and waited 


Paul and Virginia. 173 


there till the return of the pilot, who was 
gone, according to custom, to board the ship. 
The pilot did not return till the evening, when 
he brought the governor information that the 
signalled vessel was the Saint-Geran, of seven 
hundred tons burden, and commanded by a 
captain of the name of Aubin—that she was 
now four leagues out at sea, but would prob- 
ably anchor at Port Louis the following after- 
noon, if the wind became fair: at present there | 
was a calm. The pilot then handed to the 
governor a number of letters which the Saint- 
Geran had brought from France, among 
which was one addressed to Madame de la 
Tour in the handwriting of Virginia. Paul 
seized upon the letter, kissed it with transport, 
and, placing it in his bosom, flew to the plan- 
tation. Nosooner did he perceive from a dis- 
tance the family, who were awaiting his re- 
turn upon the Rock of Adieus, than he waved 
the letter aloft in the air, without being able 
to utter a word. No sooner was the seal 
broken than they all crowded round Madame 
de la Tour to hear the letter read. Virginia 
informed her mother that she had experienced 


174 Paul and Virginia. 


much ill-usage from her aunt, who, after hav- 
ing in vain urged her to a marriage against 
her inclination, had disinherited her, and had 
sent her back at a time when she would prob- 
ably reach the Mauritius during the hurricane 
season. In vain, she added, had she endeav- 
ored to soften her aunt by representing what 
she owed to her mother and to her early 
habits; she was treated as a romantic girl 
whose head had been turned by novels. She 
could now only think of the joy of again see- 
ing and embracing her beloved family, and 
would have gratified her ardent desire at once 
by landing in the pilot’s boat if the captain 
had allowed her: but that he had objected on 
account of the distance and of a heavy swell 
which, notwithstanding the calm, reigned in 
the open sea. 

As soon as the letter was finished the whole 
of the family, transported with joy, repeat- 
edly exclaimed, “ Virginia is arrived!” and 
mistresses and servants embraced each other. 
Madame de la Tour said to Paul: 

“My son, go and inform our neighbor of 
Virginia’s arrival.” 


Paul and Virginia. 175 


Domingo immediately lighted a torch of 
bois de ronde, and he and Paul bent their way 
toward my dwelling. 

It was about ten o’clock at night, and I was 
just going to extinguish my lamp and retire 
to rest, when I perceived through the palisades 
round my cottage a light in the woods. Soon 
after I heard the voice of Paul calling me. I 
instantly arose, and had hardly dressed myself 
when Paul, almost beside himself and panting 
for breath, sprang on my neck, crying: 

“Come along, come along! Virginia is ar- 
rived. Let us go to the port; the vessel will 
anchor at break of day.” 

Searcely had he uttered the words when 
we set off. As we were passing through the 
woods of the Sloping Mountain, and were al- 
ready on the road which leads from the Shad- 
dock Grove to the port, I heard some one 
walking behind us. It proved to be a negro, 
and he was advancing with hasty steps. When 
he had reached us I asked him whence he 
came and whither he was going with such ex- 
pedition. He answered: 

“T come from that part of the island called 


176 - Paul and Virginia. 


Golden Dust, and am sent to the port to in- 
form the governor that a ship from France 
has anchored under the Isle of Amber. She 
is firing guns of distress, for the sea is very 
rough.” 

Having said this, the man left us and pur- 
sued his journey without any further delay. 

I then said to Paul: 

“Let us go toward the quarter of the 
Golden Dust, and meet Virginia'there. It is 
not more than three leagues from hence.” We 
accordingly bent our course toward the north- 
ern part of the island. The heat was suffo- 
cating. The moon had risen, and was sur- 
rounded by three large black circles. A 
frightful darkness shrouded the sky; but the 
frequent flashes of lightning discovered to us 
long rows of thick and gloomy clouds, hang- 
ing very low and heaped together over the 
centre of the island, being driven in with great 
rapidity from the ocean, although not a breath 
of air was perceptible upon the land. As we 
walked along we thought we heard peals of © 
thunder; but on listening more attentively we 
perceived that it was the sound of cannon at 


Paul and Virginia. 177 


a distance, repeated by the echoes. These 
ominous sounds, joined to the tempestuous as- 
pect of the heavens, made me shudder. JI had 
little doubt of their being signals of distress 
from ashipin danger. In about half an hour 
the firing ceased, and I found the silence still 
more appalling than the dismal sounds which 
had preceded it. 

We hastened on without uttering a word 
or daring to communicate to each other our 
mutual apprehensions. At midnight, by 
great exertion we arrived at the seashore in 
that part of the island called Golden Dust. 
The billows were breaking against the beach 
with a horrible noise, covering the rocks and 
the strand with foam of a dazzling whiteness, 
blended with sparks of fire. By these phos- 
phorice gleams we distinguished, notwithstand- 
ing the darkness, a number of fishing canoes 
drawn up high upon the beach. 

At the entrance of a wood, a short distance 
from us, we saw a fire round which a party of 
the inhabitants were assembled. We re 
paired thither in order to rest ourselves till 
the morning. While we were seated near this 


12 
‘ \ 


178 Paul and Virginia. 


fire one of the standers-by related that late in 
the afternoon he had seen a vessel in the open 
sea driven toward the island by the currents; 
that the night had hidden it from his view; 
and that two hours after sunset he had heard 
the firing of signal guns of distress, but that 
the surf was so high that it was impossible to 
launch a boat to gooff to her; that a short time 
after he thought he perceived the glimmering 
of the watch-lights on board the vessel, which 
he feared, by its having approached so near 
the coast, had steered between the main land 
and the little island of Amber, mistaking the 
latter for the Point of Endeavor, near which 
vessels pass in order to gain Port Louis; and 
that if this were the case—which, however, 
he would not take upon himself to be certain 
of—the ship, he thought, was in very great 
danger. 

Another islander then informed us that he 
had frequently crossed the channel ‘which 
separates the isle of Amber from the coast, 
and had sounded it; that the anchorage was 
very good, and that the ship would there lie 
as safely as in the best harbor. “I would 


Paul and Virginia. 179 


stake all I am worth upon it,” said he, “and 
if I were on board I should sleep as sound as 
on shore.” 

A third bystander declared that it was im- 
possible for the ship to enter that channel, 
which was scarcely navigable for a boat. He 
was certain, he said, that he had seen the ves- 
sel at anchor beyond the isle of Amber; so that 
if the wind rose in the morning she could 
either put to sea or gain the harbor. Other 
inhabitants gave different opinions upon this 
subject, which they continued to discuss in the 
usual desultory manner of the indolent 
Creoles. 

Paul and I observed a profound silence. We 
remained on this spot till break of day, but 
the weather was too hazy to admit of our dis- 
tinguishing any object at sea, everything be- 
ing covered with fog. All we could desery to 
seaward was a dark cloud, which they told us 
was the isle of Amber, at the distance of a 
quarter of a league from the coast. On this 
gloomy day we could only discern the point 
of land on which we were standing and the 
peaks of some inland mountains which started 


180 Paul and Virginia. 


out occasionally from the midst of the clouds 
that hung around them. 

At about seven in the morning we heard 
the sound of drums in the woods: -it an- 
nounced the approach of the governor, Mon- 
sieur de la Bourdonnais, who soon after ar- 
rived on horseback at the head of a detach- 
ment of soldiers armed with muskets, and a 
crowd of islanders and negroes. He drew up 
his soldiers upon the beach and ordered them 
to make a general discharge. This was no 
sooner done than we perceived a glimmering 
light upon the water which was instantly fol- 
lowed by the report of acannon. We judged 
that the ship was at no great distance, and all 
ran toward that part whence the light and 
sound proceeded. We now discerned through 
the fog the hull and yards of a large vessel. 
We were so near to her that notwithstanding 
the tumult of the waves we could distinetly 
hear the whistle of the boatswain and the 
shouts of the sailors, who cried out three 
times, Vive LE Ror! this being the ery of the 
French in extreme danger as well as in ex- 
uberant joy, as though they wished to eall 


Paul and Virginia. 181 


their prince to their aid or to testify to him 
that they are prepared to lay down their lives 
in his service. _ 

As soon as the Saint-Geran perceived that 
we were near enough to render her assistance 
she continued to fire guns regularly at inter- 
vals of three minutes. Monsieur de la Bour- 
donnais caused great fires to be lighted at cer- 
tain distances upon the strand, and sent to all 
the inhabitants of the neighborhood in search 
of provisions, planks, cables, and empty bar- 
rels. A number of people soon arrived, ac- 
companied by their negroes loaded with pro- 
visions and cordage, which they had brought 
from the plantations of Golden Dust, from 
the district of La Flaque, and from the river 
of the Rampart. One of the most aged of 
these planters, approaching the governor, 
said to him: 

“We have heard all night Patton noises in 
the mountain; in the woods the leaves of the 
trees are shaken, although there is no wind; 
the sea-birds seek refuge upon the land: it is 
certain that all these signs announce a hurri- 


cane.” 


182 Paul and Virginia. 


“Well, my friends,” answered the goy- 
ernor, “ we are prepared for it, and no doubt 
the vessel is also.” 

Everything, indeed, presaged the near ap- 
proach of the hurricane. The centre of the 
clouds in the zenith was of a dismal black, 
while their skirts were tinged with a copper- 
colored hue. The air resounded with the cries 
of the tropic birds, petrels, frigate birds, and 
innumerable other sea-fowl, which notwith- 
standing the obscurity of the atmosphere were 
seen coming from every point of the horizon 
to seek for shelter in the island, 

Toward nine in the morning we heard in 
the direction of the ocean the most terrific 
noise, like the sound of thunder mingled with 
that of torrents rushing down the steeps of 
lofty mountains. A general ery was heard 
of, “ There is the hurricane! ” and the next 
moment a frightful gust of wind dispelled the 
fog which covered the isle of Amber and its 
channel. The Saint-Geran then presented 
herself to our view, her deck crowded with 
people, her yards and topmasts lowered down, 
and her flag half-mast high, moored by four 


Paul and Virginia. 183 


cables at her bow and one at her stern. She 
had anchored between the isle of Amber and 
the main land, inside the chain of reefs which 
encircles the island, and which she had passed 
through in a place where no vessel had ever 
passed before. She presented her head to the 
waves that rolled in from the open sea, and as 
each billow rushed into the narrow strait 
where she lay, her bow lifted to such a degree 
as to show her keel, and at the same moment 
her stern, plunging into the water, disap- 
peared altogether from our sight, as if it were 
swallowed up by the surges. In this position, 
driven by the winds and waves toward the 
shore, it was equally impossible for her to re- 
turn by the passage through which she had 
made her way, or by cutting her cables to 
strand herself upon the beach, from which she 
was separated by sandbanks and reefs of rocks. 
Every billow which broke upon the coast ad- 
vanced roaring to the bottom of the bay, 
throwing up heaps of shingle to the distance 
of fifty feet upon the land; then, rushing 
back, laid bare its sandy bed, from which it 
rolled immense stones with a hoarse and dis- 


184 Panl and Virginia. 


mal noise. The sea, swelled by the violence 
of the wind, rose higher every moment, and 
the whole channel between this island and the 
isle of Amber was soon one vast sheet of white 
foam, full of yawning pits of black and deep 
billows. Heaps of this foam, more than six 
feet high, were piled-up at the bottom of the 
bay, and the winds which swept its surface 
carried masses of it over the steep sea-bank, 
scattering it upon the land to the distance of 
half a league. These innumerable white 
flakes, driven horizontally even to the very 
foot of the mountains, looked like snow issu: 
ing from the bosom of the ocean. Ths ap. 
pearance of the horizon portended a lasting 
tempest; the sky and the water seemed 
blended together. Thick masses of clouds of 
a frightful forth swept across the zenith with 
the swiftness of birds, while others appeared 
motionless as rocks. Not a single spot of 
blue sky could be discerned in the whole 
firmament, and a pale yellow gleam only light- 
ened up all the objects of the earth, the ‘sea, 
and the skies. 

From the violent rolling of the satin what 


Paul and Virginia. 185 


we all dreaded happened at last. The cables 
which held her bow were torn away; she then 
swung to a single hawser, and was instantly 
dashed upon the rocks at the distance of half- 
a cable’s length from the shore. A general 
ery of horror issued from the spectators. 

Paul rushed forward to throw himself into 
the sea when, seizing him by the arm, 

“My son,” I exclaimed, “ would you per- 
ish ¢” 

“ Let me go to save her,” he cried, “ or let 
me die.” 

Seeing that despair had deprived him of rea- 
son, Domingo and I, in order to preserve him, 
fastened a long cord round his waist, and held 
it fast by the end. Paul then precipitated 
himself toward the Saint-Geran, now swim- 
ming and now walking upon the rocks. 
Sometimes he had hopes of reaching the ves- 
sel, which the sea by the reflux of its waves 
had left almost dry, so that you could have 
walked round it on foot; but suddenly the bil- 
lows, returning with fresh fury, shrouded it 
beneath mountains of water, which then lifted 
it upright upon its keel. The breakers at the 


186 Paul and Virginia. 


same moment threw the unfortunate Paul far 
upon the beach, his legs bathed in blood, his 
bosom wounded, and himself half dead. The 
moment he had recovered the use of his senses 
he arose and returned with new ardor toward 
the vessel, the parts of which now yawned 
asunder from the violent strokes of the bil- 
lows. The crew then, despairing of their 
safety, threw themselves in crowds into the 
sea upon yards, planks, hen-coops, tables, and 
barrels. At this moment we beheld an ob- 
ject which wrung our hearts with grief and 
pity: a young lady appeared in the stern-gal- 
lery of the Saint-Geran, stretching out her 
arms toward him who was making so many 
efforts to join her. It was Virginia. She 
had discovered her lover by his intrepidity. 
The sight of this amiable girl, exposed to such 
horrible danger, filled us with unutterable 
despair. As for Virginia, with a firm and 
dignified mien she waved her hand, as if bid- 
ding us an eternal farewell. Atl the sailors 
had flung themselves into the sea except one, 
who still remained upon the deck, and who 
was naked and strong as Hereules. This man 


Paul and Virginia. 187 


approached Virginia with respect, and, kneel- 
ing at her feet, attempted to force her to 
throw off her clothes; but she repulsed him 
with modesty and turned away her head. 
Then were heard redoubled cries from the 
spectators, “Save her! save her!” But at 
that moment a mountain billow, of enormous 
magnitude, engulfed itself between the isle of 
Amber and the coast, and menaced the shat- 
tered vessel, toward which it rolled bellowing, 
with its black sides and foaming head. At 
this terrible sight the sailor flung himself into 
the sea; and Virginia, seeing death inevitable, 
crossed her hands upon her breast, and, rais- 
ing upward her serene and beauteous eyes, 
seemed an angel prepared to take her flight to 
Heaven. 

Oh, day of horror! Alas! everything was 
- swallowed up by the relentless billows. The 
surge threw some of the spectators, whom an 
impulse of humanity had prompted to advance 
toward Virginia, far upon the beach, and also 
the sailor who had endeavored to save her life. 
This man, who had escaped from almost cer- 
tain death, kneeling on the sand, exclaimed: 


188 Paul and Virginia. 


“Oh, my God! Thou hast saved my life, 
but I would have given it willingly for that 
excellent young lady, who had persevered in 
not undressing herself as I had done.” 

Domingo and I drew the unfortunate Paul 
to shore. He was senseless, and blood was 
flowing from his mouth and ears. The gov- 
ernor ordered him to be put into the hands of 
a surgeon, while we, on our part, wandered 
along the beach, in hopes that the sea would 
throw up the corpse of Virginia. But the 
wind having suddenly changed, as it fre- 
quently happens during hurricanes, our search 
was in vain, and we had the grief of thinking 
that we should not be able to bestow on this 
sweet and unfortunate girl the last sad duties. - 
We retired from the spot overwhelmed with 
dismay, and our minds wholly occupied by 
one cruel loss, although numbers had perished 
in the wreck. Some of the spectators seemed 
tempted, from the fatal destiny of this virtu- 
ous girl, to doubt the existence of Providence, 
for there are in life such terrible, such unmer- 
ited evils that even the hope of the wise is 
sometimes shaken. 


Paul and Virginia. 189 


In the meantime Paul, who began to re- 
cover his senses, was taken to a house in the 
neighborhood, till he was in a fit state to be 
removed to his own home. Thither I bent 
my way with Domingo, to discharge the mel- 
ancholy duty of preparing Virginia’s mother 
and her friend for the disastrous event which 
had happened. When we had reached the 
entrance of the valley of the river of Fan- 
Palms, some negroes informed us that the sea 
had thrown up many pieces of the wreck in 
the opposite bay. We descended toward it, 
and one of the first objects that « -uck my 
sight upon the beach was the corpse of Vir- 
ginia. The body was half covered with sand, 
and preserved the attitude in which we had 
seen her perish. Her features were not sen- 
sibly changed, her eyes were closed, and her 
countenance was still serene; but the pale pur- 
ple hues of death were blended on her cheek 
with the blush of virgin modesty. One of 
her hands was placed upon her clothes, and 
the other, which she held on her heart, was 
fast closed, and so stiffened that it was with 
difficulty that I took from its grasp a small 
box. How great was my emotion when I saw 


190 Paul and Virginia. 


that it contained the picture of Paul, which 
she had promised him never to part with while 
she lived. At the sight of this last mark of 
the fidelity and tenderness of the unfortunate 
girl I wept bitterly. As for Domingo, he beat 
his breast and pierced the air with his shrieks. 
With heavy hearts we then carried the body 
of Virginia to a fisherman’s hut, and gave it 
in charge of some poor Malabar women, who 
carefully washed away the sand. 

While they were employed in this melan- 
choly office we ascended the hill with trem- 
bling steps to the plantation. We found 
Madame de la Tour and Margaret at prayer, 
hourly expecting to have tidings from thé 
ship. As soon as Madame de la Tour saw me 
coming, she eagerly cried: 

“Where is my daughter, my dear daugh- 
ter, my child ?” 

My silence and my tears iopeeee her of 
her misfortune. She was instantly seized 
with a convulsive stopping of the breath and 
agonizing pains, and her voice was only heard 
in sighs and groans. 

Margaret cried: 


Paul and Virginia. 191 


“Where is my son? I do not see my son,” 
and fainted. 

We ran to her assistance. In a short time 
she recovered, and, being assured that Paul 
was safe and under the care of the governor, 
she thought of nothing but of succoring her 
friend, who recovered from one fainting-fit 
only to fallinto another. Madame de la Tour 
passed the whole night in these cruel suffer- 
ings, and I became convinced that there was 
no sorrow like that of a mother. When she 
recovered her senses she cast a fixed, uncon- 
scious look toward heaven. In vain her 
friend and myself pressed her hands in ours; 
in vain we called upon her by the most tender 
names; she appeared wholly insensible_ to 
these testimonials of our affection, and no 
sound issued from her oppressed bosom but 
deep and hollow moans. 

During the morning Paul was carried home 
in a palanquin. He had now recovered the 
use of his reason, but was unable to utter a 
word. His interview with his mother and 


Madame de la Tour, which I had dreaded, 


192 Paul and Virginia. 


produced a better effect than all my cares. A 
ray of consolation gleamed on the counten- 
ances of the two unfortunate mothers. They 
pressed close to him, clasped him in their 
arms, and kissed him: their tears, which ex- 
eess of anguish had till now dried up at the 
source, began to flow. Paul mixed his tears 
with theirs; and Nature having thus found 
relief, a long stupor succeeded the convulsive 
pangs they had suffered, and afforded them a 
lethargic repose which was in truth like that 
of death. 

Monsieur de la Bourdonnais sent to apprise 
me secretly that the corpse of Virgimia had 
been borne to the town by his order, from 
whence it was to be transferred to the church 
of the Shaddock Grove. I immediately went 
down to Port Louis, where I found a multi- 
tude assembled from all parts of the island in 
order to be present at the funeral solemnity, 
as if the isle had lost that which was nearest 
and dearest to it. The vessels in the harbor 
had their yards crossed, their flags half-mast, 
and fired guns at long intervals. A body of 
grenadiers led the funeral procession, with 


Paul and Virginia. 193 


their muskets reversed, their muffled drums 
sending forth slow and dismal sounds. De- 
jection was depicted in the countenance of 
these warriors, who had so often braved death 
in battle without changing color. Eight 
young ladies of considerable families of the 
island, dressed in white and bearing palm- 
branches in their hands, carried the corpse of 
their amiable companion, which was covered 
with flowers. They were followed by a chorus 
of children chanting hymns, and by the gov- 
ernor, his field officers, all the principal in- 
habitants of the island, and an immense crowd 
of people. 

This imposing funeral solemnity had been 
ordered by the administration of the country, 
which was desirous of doing honor to the vir- 
tues of Virginia. But when the mournful 
procession arrived at the foot of this moun- 
tain, within sight of those cottages of which 
she had been so long an inmate and an orna- 
ment, diffusing happiness all around them, 
and which her loss had now filled with des- 
pair, the funeral pomp was interrupted, the 

13 


194 Paul and Virginia. 


hymns and anthems ceased, and the whole 
plain resounded with sighs and lamentations. 
Numbers of young girls ran from the neigh- 
boring plantations to touch the coffin of Vir- 
ginia with their handkerchiefs, and with chap- 
lets and crowns of flowers, invoking her as a 
saint. Mothers asked of Heaven a child like ~ 
Virginia; lovers, a heart as faithful; the poor, 
as tender a friend; and the slaves, as kind a 
mistress. 

When the procession had reached the place 
of interment, some negresses of Madagascar 
and Caffres of Mozambique placed a number 
of baskets of fruit around the corpse and hung 
pieces of stuff upon the adjoining trees, ac- 
cording to the custom of their several coun- 
tries. Some Indian women from Bengal also, 
and from the coast of Malabar, brought cages 
full of small birds, which they set at liberty 
upon her coffin. Thus deeply did the loss of 
this amiable being affect the natives of differ- 
ent countries, and thus was the ritual of var- 
ious religions performed over the tomb of un- 
fortunate virtue. 

It became necessary to place guards round 


Paul and Virginia. 195 


her grave, and to employ gentle force in re- 
moving some of the daughters of the neigh- 
boring villagers, who endeavored to throw 
themselves into it, saying that they had no 
longer any consolation to hope for in this 
world, and that nothing remained for them 
but to die with their benefactress. 

On the western side of the church of the 
Shaddock Grove is a small copse of bamboos, 
where, in returning from mass with her 
mother and Margaret, Virginia loved to rest 
herself, seated by the side of him whom she 
then called brother. This was the spot se 
lected for her interment. 

At his return from the funeral solemnity 
Monsieur de la Bourdonnais came up here, 
followed by part of his numerous retinue. He 
offered Madame de la Tour and her friend all 
the assistance it was in his power to bestow. 
After briefly expressing his indignation at the 
conduct of her unnatural aunt, he advanced 
to Paul, and said everything which he thought 
most likely to soothe and console him. 

“ Heaven is my witness,” said he, “that I 
wished to ensure your happiness and that of 


196 Paul and Virginia. 


your family. My dear friend, you must zo 
to France; I will obtain a commission for you, 
and during your absence I will take the same 
care of your mother as if she were my own.” 

He then offered him his hand, but Paul 
drew away and turned his head aside, unable 
to bear his sight. 

I remained for some time at the plantation 
of my unfortunate friends, that I might ren- 
der to them and Paul those offices of friend- 
ship that were in my power, and which might 
alleviate, though they could not heal, the 
wounds of calamity. At the end of three 
weeks Paul was able to walk, but his mind 
seemed to droop in proportion as his body 
gathered strength. He was insensible to 
everything; his look was vacant; and when 
asked a question he made no reply. Madame 
de la Tour, who was dying, said to him often: 

“ My son, while I look at you I think I see 
my dear Virginia.” 

At the name of Virginia he shuddered and 
hastened away from her, notwithstanding the 
entreaties of his mother, who begged him to 
come back to her friend. . He used to go alone 


Paul and Virginia. 197 


into the garden and seat himself at the foot 
of Virginia’s cocoa tree, with his eyes fixed 
upon the fountain. The governor’s surgeon, 
who had shown the most humane attention to 
Paul and the whole family, told us that in or- 
der to cure the deep melancholy which had 
taken possession of his mind we must allow 
him to do whatever he pleased without con- 
tradiction; this, he said, afforded the only 
chance of overcoming the silence in which he 
persevered. 

I resolved to follow this advice. The first 
use which Paul made of his returning strength 
was to absent himself from the plantation. 
Being determined not to lose sight of him, I 
set out immediately, and desired Domingo to 
take some provisions and accompany us. The 
young man’s strength and spirits seemed re- 
newed as he descended the mountain. He 
first took the road to the Shaddock Grove, and 
when he was near the church, in the Alley of 
Bamboos, he walked directly to the spot where 
he saw some fresh earth turned up, kneeling 
down there and raising his eyes to heaven, he 
offered up a long prayer. ‘This appeared to 


198 Paul and Virginia. 


me a favorable symptom of the return of his 
reason, since this mark of confidence in the 
Supreme Being showed that his mind was be- 
ginning to resume its natural functions. Do- 
mingo and I, following his example, fell upon 
our knees and mingled our prayers with his. 
When he arose he bent his way, paying little 
attention to us, toward the northern part of 
the island. As I knew that he was not only 
ignorant of the spot. where the body of Vir- 
ginia had been deposited, but even of the fact 
that it had been recovered from the waves, I 
asked him why he had offered up his prayer 
at the foot of those bamboos. He answered: 

“We have been there so often.” 

He continued his course until we reached 
the borders of the forest, when night came 
on. I set him the example of taking some 
nourishment, and prevailed on him to do the 
same; and we slept upon the grass at the foot 
of a tree. The next day I thought he seemed 
disposed to retrace his steps; for after having 
gazed a considerable time from the plain upon 
the church of the Shaddock Grove, with its 
long avenues of bamboos, he made a move- 


Paul and Virginia. 199 


ment as if to return home; but, suddenly 
plunging into the forest, he directed his course 
toward the north. I guessed what was his de- 
sign, and I endeavored, but in vain, to dis- 
suade him from it. About noon we arrived at 
the quarter of Golden Dust. He rushed down 
to the seashore, opposite to the spot where the 
Saint-Geran had been wrecked. At the sight 
of the isle of Amber and its channel, then 
smooth as a mirror, he exclaimed: 

“ Virginia! oh, my dear Virginia!” and fell 
senseless. 

Domingo-and I carried him to the woods, 
where we had some difficulty in recovering 
him. As soon as he regained his senses he 
wished to return to the seashore; but we con- 
jured him not to renew his own anguish and 
ours by such cruel remembrances, and he took 
another direction. During a whole week he 
sought every spot where he had once wan- 
dered with the companion of his childhood. 
He traced the path by which she had gone to 
intercede for the slave of the Black River. 
He gazed again upon the banks of the river of 
the Three Breasts, where she had rested her- 


200 _ Paul and Virginia. 


self when unable to walk farther, and upon 
that part of the wood where they had lost 
their way. All the haunts which recalled to 
his memory the anxieties, the sports, the re- 
pasts, the benevolence of her he loved—the 
river of the Sloping Mountain, my house, the 
neighboring cascade, the papaw tree she 
had planted, the grassy fields in which she 
loved to run, the openings of the forest where 
she used to sing—all in succession called forth 
his tears, and those very echoes which had so 
often resounded with their mutual shouts of 
joy now repeated only these accents of 
despair: 

“ Virginia! oh, my dear Virginia!” 

During this savage and wandering life his 
eyes became sunk and hollow, his skin 
assumed a yellow tint, and his health rapidly 
declined. Convinced that our present suf- 
ferings are rendered more acute by the bitter 
recollection of bygone pleasures, and that the 
passions gather strength in solitude, I resolved 
to remove my unfortunate friend from those 
scenes which recalled the remembrance of his 
loss, and to lead him to a more busy part of 


Paul and Virginia. 201 


the island. With this view I conducted him 
to the inhabited part of the elevated quarter 
of Williams, which he had never visited, and 
where the busy pursuits of agriculture and 
commerce ever occasioned much bustle and 
variety. Numbers of carpenters were em- 
ployed in hewing down and squaring trees, 
while others were sawing them into planks; 
carriages were continually passing and repass- 
ing on the roads; numerous herds of oxen and 
troops of horses were feeding on those wide- 
spread meadows; and the whole country was 
dotted with the dwellings of man. On some 
spots the elevation of the soil permitted the 
culture of many of the plants of Europe: the 
yellow ears of ripe corn waved upon the 
plains; strawberry plants grew in the openings 
of the woods; and the roads were bordered by 
hedges of rose trees. The freshness of the 
air, too, giving tension to the nerves, was 
favorable to the health of Europeans. From 
those heights, situated near the middle of the 
island and surrounded by extensive forests, 
neither the sea nor Port Louis, nor the church 
of the Shaddock Grove, nor any other object 


202 Paul and Virginia. 


associated with the remembrance of Virginia 
could be discerned. Even the mountains, 
which present various shapes on the side of 
Port Louis, appear from hence like a long 
promontory in a straight and perpendicular 
line, from which arise lofty pyramids of rock 
whose summits are enveloped in the clouds. 
Conducting Paul to these scenes, I kept 
him continually in action, walking with him 
in rain and sunshine, by day and by night. I 
sometimes wandered with him into the depths 
of the forest or led him over untilled grounds, 
hoping that change of scene and fatigue might 
divert his mind from its gloomy meditations. 
But the soul of a lover finds everywhere the 
traces of the beloved object. Night and day, 
the calm of solitude and the tumult of crowds, 
are to him the same; time itself, which casts 
the shade of oblivion over so many other re- 
membrances, in vain would tear that tender 
and sacred recollection from the heart. The 
needle, when touched by the loadstone, how- 
ever it may have been moved from its posi- 
tion, is no sooner left to repose than it returns 
to the pole of its attraction. So, when I in- 


Paul and Virginia. 203 


quired of Paul, as we wandered amidst the 
plains of Williams: | 

“Where shall we now go?” he pointed to 
the north and said: 

“Yonder are our mountains; let us return 
home.” 

I now saw that all the means I took to 
divert him from his melancholy were fruitless, 
and that no resource was left but an attempt 
to combat his passion by the arguments which 
reason suggested. J answered him: 

“Yes, there are the mountains where once 
dwelt. your loved Virginia; and here is the 
picture you gave her, and which she held 
when dying to her heart—that heart which 
even in its last moments only beat for you.” 

I then presented to Paul the little portrait 
which he had given to Virginia on the borders 
of the cocoa tree fountain. At this sight a 
gloomy joy overspread his countenance. He 
eagerly seized the picture with his feeble 
hands and held it to his lips. His oppressed 
bosom seemed ready to burst with emotion, 
and his eyes were filled with tears which had 
no power to flow. 


204 Paul and Virginia. 


“My son,” said I, “listen to one who is 
your friend, who was the friend of Virginia, 
and who in the bloom of your hopes has often 
endeavored to fortify your mind against the 
unforeseen accidents of life. What do you 
deplore with so much bitterness? Is it your 
own misfortunes or those of Virginia which 
affect you so deeply? 

“ Your own misfortunes are indeed severe. 
You have lost the most amiable of girls, who 
would have grown up to womanhood a pattern 
to her sex—one who sacrificed her own inter- 
ests to yours, who preferred you to all that 
fortune could bestow, and considered you as 
the only recompense worthy of her virtues. 

“But might not this very object, from 
whom you expected the purest happiness, have 
proved to you a source of the most cruel dis- 
tress? She had returned poor and. disin- 
herited; all you could henceforth have par- 
taken with her was your labor. Rendered 
more delicate by her education and more 
courageous by her misfortunes, you might 
have beheld her every day sinking beneath 
her efforts to share and lighten your fatigues. © 


Paul and Virginia. 205 


Had she brought you children, they would 
only have served to increase her anxieties and 
your own, from the difficulty of sustaining at 
once your aged parents and your infant 
family. 

“Very likely you will tell me that the gov- 
ernor would have helped you; but how do you 
know that in a colony whose governors are so 
frequently changed you would have had others 
like Monsieur de la Bourdonnais?—that one 
might not have been sent destitute of good 
feeling and of morality?—that your young 
wife, in order to procure some miserable pit- 
tance, might not have been obliged to seek his 
favor? Had she been weak, you would have 
been to be pitied; and if she had remained 
virtuous, you would have continued poor, 
- forced even to consider yourself fortunate if, 
on account of the beauty and virtue of your 
wife, you had not to endure persecution from 
those who had promised you protection. 

“Tt would still have remained to you, you 
may say, to have enjoyed a pleasure inde- 
pendent of fortune—that of protecting a be- 
loved being who, in proportion to her own 


2.06 Paul and Virginia. 


helplessness, had more attached herself to 
you. You may fancy that your pains and 
sufferings would have served to endear you to 
each other, and that your passion would have 
gathered strength from your mutual misfor- 
tunes. Undoubtedly virtuous love does find 
consolation even in such melancholy retro- 
spects. But Virginia is no more; yet those 
persons still live whom, next to yourself, she 
held most dear—her mother, and your own; 
your inconsolable affliction is bringing them 
both to the grave. Place your happiness, as 
she did hers, in affording them succor. My 
son, beneficence is the happiness of the virtu- 
ous: there is no greater or more certain enjoy- 
ment on the earth. Schemes of pleasure, re- 
pose, luxuries, wealth and glory are not suited 
to man, weak, wandering and transitory as he 
is. See how rapidly one step toward the 
acquisition of fortune has precipitated us all 
to the lowest abyss of misery! You were 
opposed to it, it is true; but who would not 
have thought that Virginia’s voyage would 
terminate in her happiness and your own? 
An invitation from a rich and aged relation, 


Paul and Virginia. 207 


the advice of a wise governor, the approbation 
of the whole colony, and the well-advised 
authority of her confessor decided the lot of 
Virginia. Thus do we run to our ruin, de- 
ceived even by the prudence of those who 
watch over us: it would be better, no doubt, 
not to believe them, nor even to listen to the 
voice or lean on the hopes of a deceitful world. 
But all men—those you see occupied in these 
plains, those who go abroad to seek their for- 
tunes, and those in Europe who enjoy repose 
from the labors of others—are liable to re- 
verses; not one is secure from losing, at some 
period, all that he most values—greatness, 
wealth, wife, children and friends. Most of 
these wouid have their sorrow increased by the 
remembrance of their own imprudence. But 
you have nothing with which you can re 
proach yourself. You have been faithful in 
your love. In the bloom of youth, by not 
departing from the dictates of Nature, you 
evinced the wisdom of a sage. Your views 
were just because they were pure, simple and 
disinterested. You had, besides, on Virginia, 
sacred claims which nothing could counter- 


208 Paul and Virginia. 


vail. You have lost her, but it is neither your 
own imprudence, nor your avarice, nor your 
false wisdom which has occasioned this mis- 
fortune, but the will of God, who has em- 
ployed the passions of others to snatch from 
you the object of your love—God from whom 
you derive everything, who knows what is 
most fitting for you, and whose wisdom has 
not left you any cause for the repentance and 
despair which succeed the calamities that are 
brought upon us by ourselves. 

“Vainly in your misfortunes do you say to 
yourself, ‘I have not deserved them.’ Is it, 
then, the calamity of Virginia, her death and 
her present condition, that vou deplore? She 
has undergone the fate allotted to all—to high 
birth, to beauty, and even to empires them- 
selves. The life of man, with all his projects, 
may be compared to a tower at whose summit 
is death. When your Virginia was born she 
was condemned to die; happily for herself, she 
is released from life before losing her mother 
or yours or you, saved thus from undergoing 
pangs worse than those of death itself. 

“ Learn, then, my son, that death is a bene- 


Paul and Virginia. 209 


fit to all men; it is the night of that restless 
day we call by the name of life. The diseases, 
the griefs, the vexations and the fears which 
perpetually embitter our life as long as we 
possess it molest us no more in the sleep of 
death. If you inquire into the history of 
those men who appear to have been the hap- 
piest, you will find that they have bought 
their apparent felicity very dear; public con- 
sideration, perhaps, by domestic evils; fortune 
by the loss of health; the rare happiness of 
being beloved, by continual sacrifices; and 
often, at the expiration of a life devoted to 
the good of others, they see themselves sur- 
rounded only by false friends and ungrateful 
relations. But Virginia was happy to her 
very last moment. When with us she was 
bappy in partaking of the gifts of Nature; 
when far from us she found enjoyment in the 
practice of virtue; and even at the terrible 
moment in which we saw her perish she still 
had cause for self-gratulation. For whether 
she cast her eyes on the assembled colony, 


made miserable by her expected loss, or on 
14 


210 Paul and Virginia. 


you, my son, who with so much intrepidity 
were endeavoring to save her, she must have 
seen how dear she was to all. Her mind was 
fortified against the future by the remem- 
brance of her innocent life; and at that mo- 
ment she received the reward which Heaven 
reserves for virtue—a courage superior to 
danger. She met death with a serene counte- 
nance. 

“My son, God gives all the trials of life 
to virtue, in order to show that virtue alone 
can support them, and even find in them hap- 
piness and glory. When he designs for it an 
illustrious reputation, he exhibits it on a wide 
theatre and contending with death. Then 
does the courage of virtue shine forth as an 
example, and the misfortunes to which it has 
been exposed receive forever from posterity 
the tribute of their tears. This is the immor- 
tal monument reserved for virtue in a world 
where everything else passes away, and where 
the names even of the greater number of 
kings themselves are soon buried in eternal 
oblivion. 

“ Meanwhile Virginia still exists. My son, 


Paul and Virginia. 211 


you see that everything changes on this earth, 
but that nothing is ever lost. No art of man 
can annihilate the smallest particle of matter; 
can, then, that which has possessed reason, 
sensibility, affection, virtue and religion be 
supposed capable of destruction when the 
very elements with which it is clothed are im- 
perishable? Ah! however happy Virginia 
may have been with us, she is now much more 
so. ‘There is a God, my son; it is unnecessary 
for me to prove it to you, for the voice of all 
Nature loudly proclaims it. The wickedness 
of mankind leads them to deny the existence 
of a Being whose justice they fear. But your 
mind is fully convinced of His existence, 
while His works are ever before your eyes. 
Do you then believe that He would leave Vir- 
ginia without recompense? Do you think that 
the same Power which enclosed her noble soul 
in a form so beautiful, so like an emanation 
from itself, could not have saved her from the 
waves?—that He who has ordained the hap- 
piness of man here by laws unknown to you, 
cannot prepare a still higher degree of felicity 
for Virginia by other laws of which you are 


212 Paul and Virginia. 


equally ignorant? Before we were born into 
this world could we, do you imagine, even if 
we were capable of thinking at all, have 
formed any idea of our existence here? And 
now that we are in the midst of this gloomy 
and transitory life can we foresee what is be- 
yond the tomb or in what manner we shall be 
emancipated from it? Does God, like man, 
need this little globe, the earth, as a theatre 
for the display of His intelligence and His 
goodness?—and can He only dispose of hu- 
man life in the territory of death? There is 
not, in the entire ocean, a single drop of water 
which is not peopled with living beings apper- 
taining to man: and does there exist nothing 
for him in the heavens above his head? What! 
is there no supreme intelligence, no divine 
goodness, except on this little spot where we 
are placed? In those innumerable glowing 
fires, in those infinite fields of light which sur- 
round them, and which neither storms nor 
darkness can extinguish,—is there nothing but 
empty space and an eternal void? If we, weak 
and ignorant as we are, might dare to assign 
limits to that Power from whom we have re- 


\ 


Paul and Virginia. 213 


ceived everything, we might possibly imagine 
that we were placed on the very confines of 
His empire, where life is perpetually strug- 
gling with death and innocence forever in 
danger from the power of tyranny. 
“Somewhere, then, without doubt, there is 
another world, where virtue will receive its 
reward. Virginia is now happy. Ah! if from 
the abode of angels she could hold communi- 
cation with you, she would tell you, as she did 
when she bade you her last adieus, ‘ Oh, Paul! 
life is but a scene of trial. I have been obe- 
dient to the laws of nature, love and virtue. I 
crossed the seas to obey the will of my rela- 
tions; I sacrificed wealth in order to keep my 
faith; and I prefer the loss of life to disobey- 
ing the dictates of modesty. Heaven found 
that I had fulfilled my duties, and has 
snatched me forever from all the miseries I 
might have endured myself and all I might 
have felt for the miseries of others. I am 
placed far above the reach of all human evils, 
and you pity me! Jam become pure and un- 
changeable as a particle of light, and you 
would recall me to the darknessof human life! 


214 Paul and Virginia. 


Oh, Paul! Oh, my beloved friend! recollect 
those days of happiness when in the morning 
we felt the delightful sensations excited by 
the unfolding beauties of Nature—when we 
seemed to rise with the sun to the peaks of 
those rocks, and then to spread with his rays 
over the bosom of the forests. | We experi- 
enced a delight the cause of which we could 
not comprehend. In the innocence of our 
desires we wished to be all sight, to enjoy the 
rich colors of the early dawn; all smell, to 
taste a thousand perfumes at once; all hear- 
ing, to listen to the singing of our birds; and 
all heart, to be capable of gratitude for those 
mingled blessings. Now, at the source of the 
beauty whence flows all that is delightful 
upon earth, my soul intuitively sees, tastes, 
hears, touches what before she could only be 
made sensible of through the medium of our 
weak organs. Ah! what language can de 
seribe these shores of eternal bliss which I 
inhabit forever! All that infinite power and 
heavenly goodness could create to console the 
unhappy, all that the friendship of numberless 
beings exulting in the same felicity can im- 


Paul and Virginia. 215 


part, we enjoy in unmixed perfection. Sup: 
port, then, the trial which is now allotted to 
you, that you may heighten the happiness of 
your Virginia by love which will know no ter- 
mination—by a union which will be eternal. 
There I will calm your regrets, I will wipe 
away your tears, Oh, my beloved friend! my 
youthful husband! raise your thoughts toward 
the infinite, to enable you to support the evils 
of a moment.’ ”’ 

My own emotion choked my utterance. 
Paul, looking at me steadfastly, cried: 

“She is no more! she is no more!” and a 
long fainting-fit succeeded these words of woe. 
When restored to himself, he said, “Since 
death is a good, and since Virginia is happy, I 
will die too and be united to Virginia.” 

Thus the motives of consolation I had 
offered only served to nourish his despair. I 
was in the situation of a man who attempts 
to save a friend sinking in the midst of a flood, 
and who obstinately refuses to swim. Sorrow 
had completely overwhelmed his soul. Alas! 
the trials of early years prepare man for the 


216 Paul and Virginia. 


afflictions of after-life, but Paul had never 
experienced any. 

. I took him back to his own dwelling, where 
I found his mother and Madame de la Tour 
in a state of increased languor and exhaustion, 
but Margaret seemed to droop the most. 
Lively characters, upon whom petty troubles 
have but little effect, sink the soonest under 
great calamities. 

“Oh, my good friend,” said Margaret, “I 
hott last night I saw Virginia, dressed in 
white, in the midst of groves and delicious 
gardens. She said to me, ‘I enjoy the. most 
perfect happiness;’ and then, approaching 
Paul with a smiling air, she bore him away 
with her. While I was struggling to retain 
my son, I felt that I myself too was quitting 
the earth, and that I followed with inexpressi- 
ble delight. I then wished to bid my friend 
farewell, when I saw that she was hastening 
after me, accompanied by Mary and Do- 
mingo. But the strangest circumstance re- 
mains yet to be told; Madame de la Tour has 
this very night had a dream exactly like mine 
in every possible respect.” 


Paul and Virginia. 217 


“My dear friend,” I replied, “ nothing, I 
firmly believe, happens in this world without 
the permission of God. Future events, too, 
are sometimes revealed in dreams.” 

Madame de la Tour then related to me her 
dream, which was exactly the same as Mar- 
garet’s in every particular; and as I had never 
observed in either of these ladies any pro- 
pensity to superstition, I was struck with the 
singular coincidence of their dreams, and I 
felt convinced that they would soon be real- 
ized. The belief that future events are some- 
times revealed to us during sleep is one that is 
widely diffused among the nations of the 
earth. The greatest men of antiquity have 
had faith in it; among whom may be men- 
tioned Alexander the Great, Julius Cesar, the 
Scipios, the two Catos, and Brutus, none of 
whom were weak-minded persons. Both the 
Old and the New Testament furnish us with 
numerous instances of dreams that came to 
pass. As for myself, I need only on this sub- 
ject appeal to my experience, as I have more 
than once had good reason to believe that 
superior intelligences, who interest themselves 


nh 


18 Paul and Virginia. 


in our welfare, communicate with us in these 
visions of the night. Things which surpass 
the light of human reason cannot be proved 
by arguments derived from that reason; but 
still, if the mind of man is an image of that of | 
God, since man can make known his will to 
the ends of the earth by secret missives, may 
not the Supreme Intelligence which governs 
the universe employ similar means to attain 
a like end? One friend consoles another by 
a letter, which, after passing through many 
kingdoms and being in the hands of various 
individuals at enmity with each other, brings 
at last joy and hope to the breast of a single 
human being. May not in hke manner the 
Sovereign Protector of imnocence come in 
some secret way to the help of a virtuous soul 
which puts its trust in Him alone? Has he 
occasion to employ visible means to effect His 
purpose in this, whose ways are hidden in all 
His ordinary works? 

Why should we doubt the evidence of 
dreams? for what is our life, occupied as it is 
with vain and fleeting imaginations, other 
than a prolonged vision of the night. 


Paul and Virginia. 219 


Whatever may be thought of this in gen- 
eral, on the present occasion the dreams of my 
friends were soon realized. Paul expired two 
months after the death of his Virginia, whose 
name dwelt on his lips in his expiring mo- 
ments. About a week after the death of her 
son, Margaret saw her last hour approach with 
that serenity which virtue only can feel. She 
bade Madame de la Tour a most tender fare- 
well, “in the certain hope,” she said “of a 
delightful and eternal reunion.” “ Death is 
the greatest of blessings to us,” added she, 
“and we ought to desire it. If life be a punish- 
ment, we should wish for its termination; if it 
be a trial, we should be thankful that it is 
short.” . . 

The governor took care of Domingo and 
Mary, who were no longer able to labor, and 
who survived their mistresses but a short time. 
As for poor Fidele, he pined to death soon 
after he had lost his master. 

I afforded an asylum in my dwelling to 
Madame de la Tour, who bore up under her 
calamities with incredible elevation of mind. 
She had endeavored to console Paul and Mar- 
garet till their last moments, as if she herself 


220 Paul and Virginia. 


had no misfortunes of her own to bear. When 
they were no more she used to talk to me every 
day of them as of beloved friends who were 
still living near her. She survived them, how- 
ever, but one month. Far from reproaching 
her aunt for the afflictions she had caused, her 
benign spirit prayed to God to pardon her, 
and to appease that remorse which we heard 
began to torment her as soon as she had sent 
Virginia away with so much inhumanity. 
Conscience, that certain punishment of the 
guilty, visited with all the terrors the mind of 
this unnatural relation. So great was her tor- 
ment that life and death became equally in- 
supportable to her. Sometimes she re- 
proached herself with the untimely fate of 
her lovely niece, and with the death of her 
mother which had immediately followed it. 
At other times she congratulated herself for 
having repulsed far from her two wretched 
creatures, who, she said, had both dishonored 
their family by their groveling inclinations. 
Sometimes, at the sight of the many miserable 
objects with which Paris abounds, she would 
fly in a rage and exclaim, “ Why are not 
these idle people sent off to the colonies?” 


Paul and Virginia. 221 


As for the notions of humanity, virtue and 
religion adopted by all nations, she said they 
were only the inventions of their rulers to 
serve political purposes. Then, flying all at 
once to the other extreme, she abandoned her- 
self to superstitious terrors, which filled her 
with mortal fears. She would then give 
abundant alms to the wealthy ecclesiastics 
who governed her, beseeching them to appease 
the wrath of God by the sacrifice of her for- 
tune, as if the offering to Him of the wealth 
she had withheld from the miserable could 
please her heavenly Father! In her imagina- 
tion she often beheld fields of fire, with burn- 
ing mountains, wherein hideous spectres wan- 
dered about loudly calling on her by name. 
She threw herself at her confessor’s feet, im- 
agining every description of agony and tor- 
ture; for Heaven—just Heaven—always 
sends to the cruel the most frightful views of 
religion and a future state. 

Atheist, thus, and fanatic in turn, holding 
both life and death in equal horror, she lived 
on for several years. But what completed the 
torments of her miserable existence was that 
very object to which she had sacrificed every 


222 Paul and Virginia. 


natural affection. She was deeply annoyed at 
perceiving that her fortune must go at her 
death to relations whom she hated and she 
determined to alienate as much of it as she 
could. They, however, taking advantage of 
her frequent attacks of low spirits, caused her 
to be secluded as a lunatic and her affairs to 
be put into the hands of trustees. Her wealth 
thus completed her ruin, and, as the possession 
of it had hardened her own heart, so did its 
anticipation corrupt the hearts of those who 
coveted it from her. At length she died, and, 
to crown her misery, she retained reason 
enough at last to be sensible that she was 
plundered and despised by the very persons 
whose opinions had been her rule of conduct 
during her whole life. 

On the same spot and at the foot of the 
same shrubs as his Virginia was deposited the 
body of Paul, and round about them he the 
remains of their tender mothers and their 
faithful servants. No marble marks the spot 
of their humble graves, no inscription records 
their virtues; but their memory is engraven 
in indelible characters upon the hearts of 
those whom they have befriended. Their 


Paul and Virginia. 223 


spirits have no need of the pomp which they 
shunned during their life; but if they still 
take an interest in what passes upon earth. 
they no doubt love to wander beneath the 
roofs of these humble dwellings, inhabited by 
industrious virtue, to console poverty discon- 
tented with its lot, to cherish in the hearts of 
lovers the sacred flame of fidelity, and to in- 
spire a taste for the blessings of Nature, a love 
of honest labor, and a dread of the allure- 
ments of riches. 

The voice of the people, which is often 
silent with regard to the monuments raised to 
kings, has given to some parts of this island 
names which will immortalize the loss of Vir- 
ginia. Near the isle of Amber, in the midst 
of sandbanks, is a spot called The Pass of the 
Saint-Geran, from the name of the vessel 
which was there lost. The extremity of that 
point of land which you see yonder, three 
leagues off, half covered with water, and which 
the Saint-Geran could not double the night 
before the hurricane, is called the Cape of 
Misfortune; and before us, at the end of the 
valley, is the Bay of the Tomb, where Vir- 
ginia was found buried in the sand, as if the 


224 Paul and Virginia. 


waves had sought to restore her eorpse to her 
family, that they might render it the last sad 
duties on those shores where so many years of 
her innocent life had been passed. 

Joined thus in death, ye faithful lovers who 
were so tenderly united! unfortunate mothers! 
beloved family! these woods which sheltered 
you with their foliage, these fountains which 
flowed for you, these hillsides upon which you 
reposed, still deplore your loss! No one has 
since presumed to cultivate that desolate spot 
of land or to rebuild those humble cottages. 
Your goats are become wild; your orchards 
are destroyed; your birds are all fled and 
nothing is heard but the cry of the sparrow- 
hawk as it skims in quest of prey around this 
rocky basin. As for myself, since I have 
ceased to behold you I have felt friendless and 
alone, like a father bereft of his children or a 
traveler who wanders by himself over the face 
of the earth. 

Ending with these words, the good old man 
retired, bathed in tears, and my own, too, had 
flowed more than once during this A 
choly recital. 


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. 138 WHat Is a CHRISTIAN? THE Stupy oF 


THE BistE; A TALK ON Books. 


. I9 THe CHANGED LIFE. 


ee 


20 First! A TALK WITH Boys. 


. 45 How ‘ro LEARN How. 


. 46 Pax Vopiscum. 


MARTIN LUTHER. 
. 21 Gop’s Worp AND Gop’s Work. 


Publications of Henry Altemus Company 


Altemus’ In His Name Series Continued 


THOMAS ARNOLD. 

. 22 Farra. 
WILLIAM E. GLADSTONE. 

. 23 Tre Creation Story. 
ASHTON OXENDEN. 
+. 24 THE MEssacE oF Comrort. 
DEAN STANLEY. 


. 25 [THe Lorv’s PRAYER AND THE TEN Com- 
MANDMENTS, 


ELISABETH ROBINSON SCOVIL. 


. 26 Hymns oF PRAISE AND GILADNESS. 
. 27 MorNING STRENGTH. 
. 28 EvENING Comrort. 


HANNAH WHITALL SMITH. 
. 29 DIFFICULTIES. 

REV. F. B. MEYER. 

.. 30 THE HEAVENLY VISION. 

.. 31 Worps oF HELP FoR CHRISTIAN GIRLS. 

HESBA STRETTON. 

.. 32 Jessica’s First Prayer. 

.. 33 JEssica’s MorHeEr. 

Rowe crURCH: 

.. 34 THE MEssacgE or PEACE, 

ROBERT F. HORTON. 

.. 35 [THE Memoirs or Jesus. 

HENRY WARD BEECHER. 

.. 36 INDUSTRY AND IDLENESs. 

.. 37 PopuLAR AMUSEMENTS. 

.. 38 TweEtveE Causés or DISHONESTY. 

Bie. ELLIOT: 

.- 39 EXPECTATION CORNER. 

my eS AOD AY OR 

.. 40 THE OLD AND THE NEw. 


Publications of Henry Altemus Company | 


Altemus’ In His Name Series Continued 
DR. A. T. PIERSON. 
.. 43 THE SEconD ComING oF Our Lorp. 


EDITH V. BRADT. 
.- 44 For THE Quiet Hour. 


ALTEMUS’ 

ILLUSTRATED BANBURY CROSS SERIES 

This is a series of old favorites—im- 
mortal tales of which children never tire. 
Illustrated including a frontispiece in col- 
ors. Half vellum, illuminated sides. Price, 
50 cents each. 

1 O_tpv Moruer HUBBARD. 

2 CHICKEN LITILE. 

3 Biur BEArp. 

4 Tom THUMB. 

5 THe THREE BEARS. 

6 THe Waite Cat 

7 THE Farry GIF's. 

8 Snow WHITE AND Rosé REp. 
. Q ALADDIN. 
. Io Att BABA AND THE Forty THIEVES. 


ALTEMUS’ | 
LovE AND FRIENDSHIP SERIES 


Gems from the writings of eminent au- 
thors and essayists. Appropriate gifts for 
holidays and anniversaries. Exquisite 
bindings. Price, 25 cents. : 
RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 


1 Love AND FRIENDSHIP. 
2 INTELLECT. 


Publications of Henry Altemus Company 





Altemus’ Love and Friendship Series Continued 


3 SELF-RELIANCE. 
4 MANNERS. 
5 CHARACTER. 
6 SpiritTuAL Law. 
FREDERIC HARRISON. 
7 THE UsE AND Misusk oF Booxs. 


EUGENE FIELD. 
8 Tur TRIBUNE PRIMER. 


EMMA GELLIBRAND. 


DMN a OLED 
. 10 Max AND GERALD. 


“MATTHEW ARNOLD. 


.. II SWEETNESS AND Licur’. 
EDWARD EVERETT HALE. 
. 12 INDEPENDENCE Day. 
SIR JOHN LUBBOCK. 
.. 13 Art, Poetry anp Music. 
. 14 THe Beautirs or NATuRE. 
. 15 THE CHotce oF Books. 
. 16 Tue Destiny oF Man. 


RUDYARD KIPLING. 


. 17:-Tus Drums oF THE Fore AND AFT, 
. 18 Tre THREE MUSKETEERS. 
. 19 ON THE City WALL. 
.. 20 THE Man WHo Was. 
. 21 THE JUDGMENT OF DUNGARA. 
. 22 Tue Courtinc, of Dinau SHADD 
. 23 ON GREENHOW Hitt. 
WASHINGTON IRVING. 
. 24 Rip Van WINKLE. 
. 25 Tur Lecenp of SiteEEPY Ho.tow. 
. 26 OLD CHRISTMAS. 
JOHN RUSKIN. 
.. 27 Work. 


Publications of Henry Altemus Company 
Altemus’ Love and Friendship Series Continued 
BY THE AUTHOR OF “LADDIE.” 

.. 28 Miss Toosty’s Mission. 

. 29 LADDIE. 

MAURICE HEWLETT. 

.. 30 A SACRIFICE AT PRATO. 
-- 31 QUATTROCENTISTERIA, 
RALRH CONNOR. 

. 32 BEYOND THE MARSHES, 
W. A. FRASER. 

* .. 33 SoRRow. 


ALTEMUS Bo-Prep SERIES 
Entirely new editions of the most popular 

books for young people. Each volume con- 
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vellum, illuminated sides. Price, 50 cents. 

t Litrre Bo-PEsr. 

2 WHERE ArE You Goinc, My Pretry Mam? 

3 Potty Pur THE Kertie ON. 

4 Mary, Mary, Quite CONTRARY. 

5 Ripe A Cockx-Horse. 

6 Lirtte Miss MuFFerr. 
-. 7 SING A SONG OF SIXPENCE. 
ew & Mary Hap a Littce LAMB. 





Sf 


A.LTEMUS 
LirtLe MEN AND WOMEN SERIES 
A new Series for young people, by the 
best known English and American authors. 
Profusely illustrated. Cloth, 12mo, $1.00. 


-» I Brack Beauty. Anna Sewell. 
-. 2 HiawatHa, Henry W. Longfellow. 


Publications of Henry Altemus Company 





Altemus’ Little Men and Women Series Continued 


-,. 3 ALICE IN WONDERLAND AND THROUGH THE 
LOOKING GLAss. Lewis Carroll. 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. Sainte Pierre. 
GALOPOFF, THE TALKING Pony. TJudor 
Jenks. 
Gypsy, THE TALKING Doc. Tudor Jenks. 
Caps AND Capers. Gabrielle E. Jackson. 
DoucuHnuts AND Drirtomas. Gabrielle E. 
Jackson. 
-. 9 For Prey anp Spoils. Frederick A. Ober. 
.. 10 Tommy FosrTer’s ApvENtURES. frederick 
A. Ober. 
.. I1 TALES FROM SHAKESPEARE. Charles and 
Mary Lamb. 
.. 12 Ertiss History or Unirep States. Ed- 
ward S. Ellis, A. M. 
.. 13 Evtis’s History or Encuanp. Edward S. 
Ellis, A. M. 
.- 14 Evtis’s Hisrory or France. Edward S. 
Ellis, A. M. 
.. 15 Exzis’s History o— GermMANyY. Edward S. 
Ellis, A. M. 
.. 16 A Lirtte Rouen Riprr. Tudor Jenks. 
.. 17 ANOTHER YEAR witH DENISE AND NED 
TooptEs. Gabrielle I. Jackson. 
.. I8 Poor Boys’ Cuances. John Habberton. 
.. I9 SEA Kincs anp Nava Heroks. Hartwell 
James, 
.- 20 Potty Prrxins’s Apventures. ££. Louise 
“Liddell. 
.. 21 Fotiy IN FarryLanp. Carolyn Wells. 
.. 22 Forty IN THE Forest. Carolyn JVells. 


.. 23 THe Littre Lapy—Her Boox. Albert 
Bigelow Paine. 


On DO Ms 


Publications of Henry Altemus Company 


ALTEMUS 
ILLUSTRATED CHILDREN OF THE BIBLE 
SERIES 
NEW AND COPYRIGHTED. 


Each story is complete by itself, and fol- 
lows the Bible narrative. Half-vellum, dec- 
orated in gold and colors. Price, 25 cents. 

1 Tur Boy Wuo Oseyvep. The Story of 
Isaac. 

2 THE FarMER Boy. The Story of Jacob. 

3 THe Favorite Son. The Story of Joseph. 

4 Tue Aporrep Son. The Story of Moses. 

5 Tue Boy GENERAL. The Story of Joshua. 

6 Tue Boy at ScHoot. The Story of Samuel. 

7 THE SHEPHERD Boy. The Story of David. 

8 Tux Boy WuHo WouLp BE Kine. The Story 
of Absalom. 

.. 9 THE Captive Boy. The Story of Daniel. 
. to THE Boy Jesus. f 


ALTEMUS 
Younc Forixs’ PuzZzLeE PICTURES SERIES~ 
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ing numerous Puzzle Pictures by the best 
artists. Full cloth, illuminated cover des- 
ion. Price, 50 cents. 
1 Moruer Goosk’s Puzz_e PICruREs. 
2 Tue TAce of Perer RABBit wItH PUZZLE 
PICTURES. 
-» 3 ANIMAL TALES, WITH PUZZLE PICTURES. 
.. 4 THe NicHt Brrorg CHRISTMAS, WITH” 
PuZzzLe PICTURES. 


.- 5 Doc Tares, Cat Tatts AND OTHER TALES 
witH Puzz_e PIcTuRES. 


- 


Publications of Henry Altemus Company 





ALTEMUS’ 
ILLUSTRATED BEAUTIFUL STORIES SERIES 


NEW AND COPYRIGHTED. 


Stories from the Bible told in a manner 
that will be readily understood and followed 
by young readers. Profusely illustrated. 
Half-vellum, decorated in gold and colors. 
Price, 25 cents. 


.. I THE First CHRISTMAS. 

.. 2 THE First Easter. 

.. 3 ONCE IN SEVEN YEARS. 

.. 4 With HAMMER AND NAIL. 

.. 5 Five KINGs IN A CAVE. 

.. 6 Tue WisEst Man. 

.. 7 A Farmer’s WIFE. 

.. 8 Tus Man Wao Dip Nort Dir. 

.- 9 WHEN Iron Dip Swi. 

.. 10 WHat is SwEETER THAN HONEY? 


ALTEMUS’? MOTHER STORIES SERIES 


An entirely new series including the best 
stories that mothers can tell their children. 
Handsomely printed and profusely illus- 
trated. Ornamental cloth. Price, 50 cents. 


1 Moruer Storus. 80 illustrations. 
2 Moruer Nursery RHYMES AND TALES. 135 
illustrations. 
.. 3 Motuer Farry Tarfs. 117 illustrations. 
4 Motuer Nature Stories. 97 illustrations. 
.. 5 Moruer StTorRIES FROM THE Op TESTAMENT. 
45 illustrations. 
-» 6 Moruer SroriFs FRoM THE NEw _ TEstTa- 
MEN’. 45 illustrations. 


Publications of Henry Altemus Company 





3 


ALTEMUS’ ILLUSTRATED 
Dainty SERIES OF CHOICE Girt Books 


Bound in half-white vellum, illuminated 
sides, with numerous illustrations. 

Price, | GOvCenis, 
.. I Tue Sitver Bucxir. M. Nataline Crump- 

ton. 
CHarLEs DicKENS’ CHILBREN STORIES. 
Tue CHILDREN’S SHAKESPEARE. 
Younc Rosin Hoop. G. Manville Fenn. 
Honor Bricut. Mary C. Rowsell. 
THE VoYAGE oF THE MARY ADAIR. Frances 

E. Crompton. 

7 THe KincrisHer’s Eco, L. T. Meade. 

8 Tarrine. Ruth Ogden. 

g THE Dorncs or A Dear Litrrire Coupre, 

Mary D. Brine. 

10 Our Soxtpier Boy. G. Manville Fenn. 

it Tue Lirrce Skipper. G. Manville Fenn. 
.. 12 Lirr_e GERVAISE AND OTHER STORIES. 

13 THE Curistmas Farry. John Strange 

Winter. 
14 Motty THE DrumMMER Boy. Harriet T. 
Comstock. 
-- 15 How a “Dear Lirtte Coupre”? WENT 
Aproap. Aary D. Brine. 


nm Ww bd 


ALTEMUS’ 
ILLUSTRATED RosE-CARNATION SERIES 
A series of charming gift books. Mlu- 
minated sides with numerous half-tone illus- 
trations. Price, 50 cents. 
1 Tut Rosk-Carnation. Frances E. Cromp- 


ton. 
-» 2 Moruer’s Littte MAN. Marge) Brame 


= | 


Publications of Henry Altemus Company 





Altemus’ Illustrated Rose-Carnation Series 
_ Continued > 


ee 3 Littre Swan Mawwens. Frances E. Cromp- 
ton. 
-» 4 Lirme Lapy Vat. Evelyn Evereit Green. 
~» 5 A Younc Hero. G. Manville Fenn. 
6 QUEEN of THE Day. L. T. Meade. 
7 TuHat LittLe FrencH Basy. John Strange 
. Winter. 
.. 8 THE PowpER Monkey. G. Manville Fenn. 
.. 9 THe Dott THAT TaLKED. Tudor Jenks. 
-. 10 WHat CuHaruig Founp to Do. Amanda M. 
Douglas. 


ALTEMUS’ 
ILLUSTRATED ONE-SYLLABLE SERIES 


FOR YOUNG READERS 


Embracing popular works arranged fot 
the young folks in words of one syllable. 
Profusely illustrated. 


Handsomely bound in cloth and_ gold, 
with illuminated sides. Price, 50 cents. 


.. I Atsop’s FABLES. 
.. 2A Cup's LIFE oF CHRIST. 
.. 4 [HE ADVENTURES OF ROBINSON CRUSOE, 
5 Bunyan’s Piicrim’s PrRocREss. 
6 Swiss Famity Roginson. 
7 GULLIVER’S TRAVELS. 
.. 9 A CuiLp’s Story oF THE OLp TESTAMENT. 
.. 10 A Cuiip’s Story of THE NEw TESTAMENT. 
.. 11 Brece SroriEs For LirrLe CHILDREN. 
.. 12 THE Story oF JESUS. 


Publications of Henry Altemus Company 


ALTEMUS’ 
ILLUSTRATED WEE Books FOR WEE FOLKS 


Charming stories beautifully illustrated 
in color and daintily, yet durably bound. 
Cloth. Price, 50 cents. 


1 Nursery TALES. 
2 Nursery RHYMES. 
.. 3 THE Story or Prrer Raper. 
.. 4 THE FoorisH Fox. 
». § Turee Lrrrie Pres. 
-. 6 THe Rosser Kirren. 


ALTEMUS MoTHER GOOSE SERIES 


Entirely new editions of the most popular 
books for young people. Each volume con- 
taining about seventy-five illustrations, in- 
cluding full-page colored pictures. Half 
vellum, illuminated sides. Price, 50 cents. 


1 ALADDIN; oR, THE WoNDERFUL LAMP. 
2 Our ANIMAL FRIENDS. 
3 BEAUTY AND THE BRAsT, 
4 Bird StoriEs FoR LittLe PEopre. 
5 CINDERELLA; oR, THE Littre GLass SLIp- 
PER. 
6 Tus Houskt tHat Jack Bur, 
7 JACK AND THE BEAN-STALK. 
8 JAck THE GIANT-KIniEr. 
9 LitrLe Rep Ripine Hoop. 
10 Puss 1n Boors. 
. 11 THe SLEEPING BRaAurTy. 
12 Wuo Kiritep Cock Rosin? 


Publications of Henry Altemus Company 


ALTEMUS’ 
Boys AND GIRLS BooKLOVERS SERIES 


‘A new illustrated series of books. for 
young people, by authors of established 
reputation. Price, 50 cents. 

-. I Bumper AND Bazsy JouHn. Anna Chapin 
Ray. 

-- 2 THE StTorRY oF THE GoLDEN -FLEECE. An- 
drew Lang 

-> 3 1HE WANDERINGS OF JOE AND LitTre Em. 
Albert Bigelow Paine. 

-- 4 WitcHEry Ways. Anos R. Wells. 

-.» 5 Rossie’s Breré Stories. Gertrude Smith. 

.. © Bazsy Breck Stories. Gertrude Smith. 

.. ¥ DeEvicHtT. Gertrude Smith. 


ALTEMUS’ 
ILLUSTRATED GOLDEN Days SERIES 
An entirely new series of copyright books, 
effectively illustrated. Bound in cloth, dec- 
orated. Price, 50 cents. 
.. I An Easter Lity. Amanda M: Douglas. 
.. 2 1HEe PEARL Rinc. Mary E. Bradley. 
-- 3 BuitzeEN, THE Conjurer. Frank. M. Bick- 
nell. 
-- 4 AN UNINTENTIONAL Patriot. Harriet T. 
Comstock. 
-. 5 A Suininc Marx. William E. Barton. 
-- 6 Miss Appottna’s Cuorce. Ellen Douglas 
Deland. 
.. 7 A Boy Lieutenant. F. S. Bowley. 
.. 8 POLLY AND THE OTHER Girt. Sophie Swett. 
-. 9 Herm and I. Myron B. Gibson. 
-. 10 SAM. M. G. McClelland. 
-. Ir Boppizt. Kate Langley Bosher. 


Publications of Henry Altemus Company 


ALTEMUS’ CLASSICS SERIES 


A, selection of the works of standard 
authors handsomely printed and substan- 
tially bound in- cloth. Price, 40 cents; full 
calf, boxed, $1.00. uy 


Bas BaLLaps AND Savoy Soncs. Gilbert. 
BATTLE oF Lire, THE. Dickens. 
Bictow Papers, THE. Lowell. 
CAMILLE. Alexandre Dumas, Jr. 
CARMEN. Mérimée. 
CuHILp’s GARDEN OF VERSES, A. Stevenson. 
CHIMES, THE. Dickens. 
CuristmaAs Carot, A. Dickens.. 
CRICKET ON THE HeEartH, Tue. Dickens. 
Crown or Wiip Ontves, Tor. Ruskin. 
Days witH Sir Rocer DE CovErRLEY. Ad- 
dison. 
ENpDYMION. Keats. 
EvANGELINE. Longfellow. 
Fancnuon. Sand. 
Greatest THING IN THE Wortp, THE. 
Drummond. 
16 Hauntep Man, Tue.. Dickens. 
17 In MEmortAM. Tennyson. 
18 KavanacH. Longfellow. 
.. I9 Lays oF ANCIENT Rome. Macaulay. 
.. 20 LONGFELLOW’S PokMs. Part 1. 
. 21 LONGFELLOW’s PoEMs. PART 2. 
Man Wirnovut A Country, THE. Hale. 
MarMIon. Scott. 
Mivton’s Poems. , 
PETER SCHLEMIHL. Chamtiisso. 
Por’s Porms. 
PRINCESS, THE, AND Maun. Tennyson. 
Ras AND His Frienps. Brown. 
RuBalyvat or OMAR KHAYYAM, . 


_ 


ee 
HOMO ON Nuk W WN 


. 
Ww 


alan iin Een! 
mew bp 


Publications of Henry Altemus Company 





Altemus’ Classics Series—Continued 


° 
.. 30°SESAME AND JLittes. Ruskin. 
+. 31 SHE Stoors To CoNQUER. Goldsmith. 
-. 32 UNDINE. Foudque. 
-. 33 THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER, 
Coleridge. 
. 34 GoLtp Dust. 
35 DaiLy Foon, 


ALTEMUS’ CHERRYCROFT SERIES 


A new Series for young people, including 
stories by the best and most popular authors 
of the day.. Profusely illustrated and hand- 
somely bound, Price, 50 cents. 


t AMy Dora’s Amusinc Day. Frank M. 
Bicknell. 


2 A Gourp Fipptr. Grace MacGowan Cooke. 
3 Sonny Boy. Sophie Swett. 
. 4A Prarrié Inranta. Eva Wilder Brod- 
head. 
.. 5 How Bessie Kept House. Amanda M. 
Douglas. 


-. 6 Mary Avucusta’s Prick. Sophie Swett. 

-.. 7 Fack tue Lions. M. R. Housekeeper. 

-- 8 THE MippLteTon Bow. Ellen Douglas De- 
land. 

-> 9 THE Littte Women Crus. Marion Ames 
Taggart. 

.. 10 THE LirtLte Boy AND THE ELEPHANT. Gus- 
tavus Frankenstein. 

.. It Dew’s Dest. Julie M. Lippmann. 

.. 12 Heren’s Bazres. John Habberton. 


Publications of Henry Altemus Company 





me 


SHAKESPEARE’S COMPLETE WorRRES 


7 


ALTEMUS HANDY VOLUME EDITION 


Cloth, 35 cents. Limp leather, 50 eents. 


I 


9 


Meh 4 
$20 
a eo 
he ay 
3 
Dae. 


Att’s WELL THAT Enps WELL. 
ANTHONY AND CLEOPATRA. 

A MipsumMER Nicu’t’s Dream. 
As You Likes Ir’, 

CoMEDY OF ERrRors. 
CoRIOLANUS. 

CYMBELINE. 

HAMLET. 

Junius CAESAR. 

Kine Henry IV. (Part I.) 
Kine Henry IV. (Part IL.) 
Kinc Henry V. 

KING Henry VI. (Part 1.) 
Kinc Henry VI. (Part II.) 
Kine Henry VI. (Part III.) 
Kinc Henry VIII. 

Kine JOHN. 

Kinc LEAR. 

Kine RicHArp IT. 

Kine Ricwarp III. 

Lovre’s Lasor Lost. 

MACBETH. 

MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 

Mucu Apo Axsout NotrHING, 
OTHELLO. 

PERICLES. 

ROMEO AND JULIET. 

THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
Tur Merry WivEs or WINpDsOoR. 
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
Tue TEMPEST. 
Tue Two GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 


Publications of Henry Altemus Company 





Shakespeare’s Complete: Works Continued 


.- 33 THE WINTER'S TALE. 

.. 34 TIMON oF ATHENS. 

.. 35 Titus ANDRONICUS. 

.. 36 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 

.. 37 TweLrra NIcHT. 

-. 38 VENUS AND ADONIS AND LUCRECE. 
-. 39 SONNETS, PASSIONATE PILGRIM, ETC. 


ALTEMUS’ 
ILLUSTRATED HoLity-TREE SERIES 


- 


A series of good, clean books for young 
people, by authors whose fame for de- 
lightful stories is world-wide. Handsomely 
illustrated, bound in full cloth, decorated. 
Price, 50 cents. 


1 Tue Horry Tree. Charles Dickens. 
2 THEN MarcuHEep THE Brave. Harriet T,. 
Comstock. 

.. 3 A Mopern Crinveretta. Louisa M. Alcott. 

-. 4 7HE Lirrreg Missionary. Amanda M., 
Douglas. 

.. 5 THE Rute or TuHret. Susan Coolidge. 

-. 6 Cuuccins. He Irving Hancock. 

.. 7 WHEN THE BRITISH Camr. Harriet T. 
Comstock. 

.. 8 Lire Foxes. Rose Terry Cooke. 

.- 9 AN UnrecorpED Miracin. Florence Morse 
Kingsley. 

.. 10 THe Story Witnovut an Enp. Sarah 
Austin. 

.. It Crover’s Princrss. Amanda M. Douglas. 

-. 12 THE Sweet Story of Otp. L. Haskell. 


© 


Publications of Henry Altemus Company 


ALTEMUS’ HaAnp-Booxks For ANIMAL 
OwNERS 
.THE Cat. 
- THE Doc. 
.THE Horst. , 
Cloth, $1.00 each. 


WoRLDLyY WISDOM SERIES 


1 WorLpDLY WISPOM FROM SHAKESPEARE. 
2 Wor.tpLy WispoM FROM BENJAMIN FRANK- 
LIN, 
3 WorLpDLy WIsD0M FROM ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 
4 WoripLy WispoM FROM EMERSON. | 
Full Persian levant boxed, $1.00. 


NEw Books AND NEw EDITIONS 


.Get RicH Quick WaALLINGFoRD. By George 
Randolph Chester. 12mo, cloth, $1.50. 


.-How To Dress A Dott. By Mary H. Morgan. 


Illuminated boards, s5oc. Illustrated. 


.- THE Irs or History. By J. E. Chamberlin. 


Cloth, $1.00. 
.Isyis IN ParapiIse. By George Roe. Il\lustra- 
ted, full Persian levant, $1.25. 


.. HE Brsre as Goop Reapinc. By Albert J. 


e 


Beveridge, U. S. Senator from Indiana. 
Cloth, 50c.; ooze calf, $1.00. 

.WorK AND Hapsits. By Albert J. Beveridge, 
U. S. Senator from Indiana. Cloth 50c.; 
ooze calf, $1.00. 

-How ‘to Invest Your Savincs. By Jsaac F. 
Marcosson. Illuminated boards, 50c.; ooze 
calf, boxed, $1.00. 

.THE Boy Geotocist. By Prof. E. J. Houston. 
Illustrated, cloth, $1.00. 





\ 


Publications of Henry Altemus Company 





New Books and New Editions Continued 


. [HE Kinc’s DaucuTers’ YEAR Boox. By Mar- 


garet Bottome. President of the Inter- 
jational Order of the King’s Daughters. 
Cloth, decorated, $1.25. 


.CRUMBS FROM THE Kinc’s Tasre. By Margaret 


Boettome. President of the International 
Order of the King’s Daughters. Cloth, 
decorated, $1.00. 


. GEORGE WASHINGTON Jones. By Ruth McEnery 


Stuart. Illustrations by Edward Potthast. 
12mo, cloth, $1.00. 


.. HAt¥r-A-DozEN HousEKEeEPERS. By Kate Doug- 


las Wiggin. Illustrations by Mills Thomp- 
son. I2mo, cloth, 75c. 


.SHE Wuo Witt, Not WHEN SHE May. By 


Eleanor G. Walton. Illustrated. s12mo, 
cloth, $1.00; ooze calf, gilt top, boxed, $1.50. 


.Hisrory oF EnciisH Literature. By H. A. 


Taine. With 68 photogravures. 4 vol., 
octavo, full buckram, paper label, gilt top, 
boxed, $8.00 per set. 4 vol., half calf, 
boxed, $15.00. 


.Brewer’s Dictionary OF PHRASE AND FABLE. 


By Rev. E. Cobham Brewer. Nearly 1,500 
pages. Imitation half morocco, $1.50. 


.THe AGE oF FABLE; or, BEAUTIES OF MyTHOL- 


ocy. By Thomas Bulfinch. 448 pages, 206 
illustrations and index. 12mo, cloth, $1.25. 


~.ManuaL or MyvruHotocy. By Alexander C. 


Murray. 465 pages, 200 illustrations and 
index. 12mo, cloth, $1.25. 


.THeE Pats oF Evo_ution, THRouUGH ANCIENT 


THouGHT AND MopErNn ScieNcE. By Henry 
Pemberton. $1.50 net. 


.THE Nine Sworps of Morares. By George 


Homer Meyer, Cloth, $1.50. 


Vif f ae 


Publi¢ations of Henry Altemus Company 





New Books and New Editions Continued 


.In Pursuit or Priscitta. By FE. S. Field. Or- 


namental boards, 50c.; ooze calf, $1.00. 


-THE WatTeRMEAD ArFrarrR. By Robert Barr. 


Decorated boards, 50c.; ooze calf, $1.00. 


.THE Tin Disxers. By Lloyd Osbourne. II- 


_luminated boards, 50c.; ooze calf, $1.90. 


.. RF AND Trixy. By John Habberton. 16mo, 


cloth, 5o0c. 


-. THE GRAMMAR OF Patmistry. By Katherine 


Sit. Hill. Decorated cloth, 25c. 


.Kinpty Licut. By Florence M. Kingsley. Il- 


lustrations by Eva M. Nagel. 16mo, cloth, 


25¢. 


.WuHaAtT WomeN SHouLD Know. By Mrs. R. B. 


Duffy. 16mo, cloth, 50c. 


.THE Care oF CuiupreN. By Elisabeth R. Sco- 


vil, t2mo, cloth, $1.00. 


PREPARATION FOR MorHEerHOop. By Elisabeth 


R. Scovil. t2mo, cloth, $1.00. 


.NAMEs ror CHILDREN. By Elisabeth R. Scovil. 


16mo, 40c. 


-Basy’s REQUIREMENTS. By Elisabeth R. Sco- 


vil. 16mo, 25c. 


ee 


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4° 
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